Other Choices
by FarStrider
Summary: The year is 2068, and Spike chose not to leave the Red Dragons; how has the Cowboy Bebop Universe changed? Read and find out and tell me what you think... Chapter 11, yay!!!!!
1. Part 1 - Julia

_DISCLAIMER:  I do not own Cowboy Bebop, it belongs to Bandai/Sunrise. . . . oh well sucks to be me. . . . nobody sue me, cause I'm well and truly BROKE!!!!!_

OTHER CHOICES (Part 1)

"Don't trust that woman," the words grated like broken glass through his memory.  The town clock struck six thirty.  It was cold and it was raining and she was late.  The roses lay next to him on the mourners' bench in a soggy heap.  The butts of at least two ashtrays worth of half smoked cigarettes littered the ground around his feet.  It was hard to smoke in a downpour.

He stood to leave; he had stayed in this one place too long as it was.  But - no buts, if he were seen, everything that he had done up to this point would have been in vain.  But – he looked around the cemetery one last time.  And there she was, her long blond hair pulled up into a high ponytail, wearing sunglasses despite the rain.  She seemed to float like a ghost out of the rising mists.  He blinked raindrops from his eyelashes, wondering if she were real or a phantom conjured up by his imagination.  He noticed the gun that she wore in her shoulder holster and decided that she was real after all; the Julia of his imagination would never need to wear a gun.

"Spike, I knew you would wait," she said in her low, purr-like voice as she stopped in front of him.  He wanted to take her in his arms, swing her around, never let her go, but he didn't.  Julia hated that sort of thing.

"Did you have any trouble?  Were you followed?" he asked instead.  She shook her head slightly, but her body language was tense.

"No, I didn't have any. . .trouble."  He noticed the pause, but chose to ignore it.

"Let's go then," he said as he took her hand.  "I have a place for us. . ." she pulled her hand from his, freezing the rest of his sentence in his throat.

"Spike, Vicious knows what you are planning," she said quietly.  He turned to her, stunned.  "He came by the apartment this afternoon, that's why I was late."  She turned away, walked to the bench and began to slowly gather up the wet roses.

"You told him?" he asked the back of her head.  She didn't look up.

"No, I didn't tell him.  I didn't need to, Spike.  He knows you better than anyone.  He figured it out himself."  She pricked her thumb on a thorn and cursed, dropping the offending flower.

"What did he say?" Spike asked as his heart constricted.  He didn't really want to know what Vicious had said; he had the feeling that he already knew.  Julia sighed as she sat on the wet bench and watched her thumb bleed.

"He said that I was dreaming if I thought that we could get away," she looked up at him through her shades.

"And?"

"And he gave me two choices:  I could die right then, or I could kill you and live."  Spike nodded to himself, that was definitely Vicious.

"That gun is his, isn't it?" he asked rhetorically as he joined her on the bench.  She nodded.  "There are always other choices, Julia.  Do you really think that he would let you live after you killed me?"  Her pale eyebrows came together in hard thought.

"We could go back.  The line hasn't been irrevocably crossed yet.  We could go back and everything could return to the way it used to be," she said hopefully.  Spike swallowed hard and felt like shit for what he was about to say.

"Julia, you know that's not possible," he sighed.  "And even if it were possible, would you really want to go back?"  She flinched slightly but squared her shoulders, staring straight ahead.

"Our lives weren't so bad," she started.  Spike cut her off.

"Before I met you, I wasn't afraid of anything.  Nothing really mattered to me.  I'd seen comrades and enemies die; and I had been nearly killed several times.  It was a rush."  The words tumbled out of him and he didn't know if he were making sense.  "You changed that.  I can't be careless with my life anymore, because that would hurt you.  I can't be ruthless with the lives of others because I care now.  I can't be that person I was before, Julia.  So there would be no point in going back and trying to live that life.  Do you understand?"

"So it's my fault," she snorted softly.  "I do understand Spike, but," she bit her bottom lip, "I won't go with you."  Spike felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him, that there wasn't enough air to breathe.  She pushed the shades up on her head and looked directly at him for the first time.  "Don't misunderstand me.  I love you, but I know you.  You live for that 'rush'.  If you left everything behind:  Mao, Annie, Lin. . .Vicious, 'the rush,' if you left your life because of me, you would eventually hate me.  And that's something that I couldn't bear."

"Julia, I could never. . ." she placed her fingertips on his lips to stop his protest.

"Yes you would," she smiled ruefully.  "And what's more, I would eventually hate you for the same reason."  Spike hung his head, knowing that what she said made sense.

"What do we do now?  Where do we go from here?" he asked.  Julia plucked out a few wilted leaves.

"I'll tell Vicious that I missed," she laughed.  "His gun isn't as familiar as mine, and everyone knows that I'm a terrible shot."  Spike felt a little smile try to tug at the corner of his mouth. That was definitely true, she really was a terrible shot.  He sobered quickly, though.

"You know I won't let you go back by yourself, Julia.  If you won't come with me, then I guess I won't go.  We'll just have to figure something else out."  He stood and offered her his hand.  She smiled up at him as she gathered the roses to her chest and accepted his help to stand.  

They walked slowly, hand in hand, from the cemetery, back into the world of the living.  Spike glanced back over his shoulder, noticing the rose that Julia had dropped, laying abandoned in a puddle, a forlorn symbol of his dreams.

There are always other choices, he said silently to that flower.  He had to make himself believe that.


	2. Part 3 - Mao

The usual disclaimer notice:  I don't own Cowboy Bebop, Bandai/Sunrise does.  This is just for fun, so don't sue me or I won't be able to buy Christmas presents for my family.

_Author's Note:  No fun insights this time:  just that Spike is having a really off day…_

OTHER CHOICES (PART THREE)

Spike closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm his heart and focus his mind on the task at hand:  in through the nose, hold, out through the mouth.  It didn't help.  He turned from the elevator doors to Mao Yenrai's antechamber.  If he had thought that the downstairs lobby was full, this was just plain ridiculous.  The usually comfortable antechamber was stuffed with Vips:  Clan Lords so important that they didn't need to wear the Syndicate coat to identify themselves, all pacing around like long tailed cats in a room full of rocking chairs.  Spike almost turned to get back on the elevator, but he had never been a coward, and he wasn't about to start now.  He made his way gingerly through the crowd to the desk of Mao's secretary, a small, rather mousy man who seemed to be awestruck at the room full of Mars' leading business men.

"Excuse me," he said trying to get the man's attention, "but could you tell Mr. Mao that Spike is here to see him, please?"  The secretary took in his coat and relatively low ranking and gave him a look of hard contempt.

"You do see all of these people, right?" he asked in a voice that dripped self-importance.  "They all have something called an _appointment_.  Something I'm sure that even someone like you should have at least have heard about."  Spike felt his eyes grow wider with each word the man spoke.  Not only was the man a snob, but he also seemed completely unaware that he was working for a Syndicate, and that insulting a "Black Coat" was a quick way to get killed.  One of the Vips rescued the man from Spike's impending biting sarcasm with a wink.  

"I think you should announce this one, Seymour.  I'll give up my place for him."  Seymour looked at Spike dubiously, but did as he was told.

"Mr. Mao," he said into the speaker phone, "there is a 'Spike' here to see you…he doesn't have an appointment, sir, but…"

"What?!" Mao's voice crackled through the speaker, "Send him in immediately, Seymour…appointment? Bah!"  Spike felt his habitual smirk widen as the secretary looked stricken.

"Don't bother to get up, Seymour, I know the way in."  Spike sketched a bow to the helpful Vip as he walked past the secretary's desk.  He passed three more Vips coming down the long hall from Mao's office.  One 'tsk'-ed him, and one shook his head.  Spike got the feeling that this did not bode well for him as he knocked on the door.  

"Come in, Spike," the familiar voice on the other side of the door sounded indifferent.  Spike entered, and closed the door softly, engaging the anti-listening devices that protected the room.  Mao sat behind his huge mahogany desk with his back to the spectacular view that the windows at the top of the Red Dragon Building afforded him.  "Seymour," he said into the speaker phone, "I'm taking no other appointments tonight, please extend my apologies, and then you may go." 

"But sir, Mr. Boswell from…"

"I know where Mr. Boswell is from, Seymour.  Please just do as I asked, and then you may go home."

"Good help is sooo hard to find," Spike said sarcastically, inadvertently drawing attention to himself.  Mao raised an eyebrow at him.

"I see that the rumors of your demise have been greatly exaggerated," Spike allowed himself a small smile at the choice of words.  "Would you care to explain exactly what happened this afternoon?"  Spike began to pace unconsciously as he tried to find a way to tell the man who had brought him off the street, gotten him educated, and ultimately found him a place in the Clan that he now thought that this whole way of life was wrong.  

"Ummmm…well…I don't really know where to start."

"This must really be serious, Spike; you haven't tried to steal anything from my desk, yet."  Mao said with mock severity.  Spike blushed as he slipped a netsuke back into place.  Mao raised his eyebrows again, but let it slide.  "Start from the beginning; and sit down, you're making me tired."  Spike sank into the couch opposite the desk.  He sighed and nodded to himself.

"I guess it started when I fell in love with Julia.  Before that, I could have been any Clan Black Coat: 'death to the enemy,' and 'all honor to the Red Dragon.'  After that, I began to really think about what we were doing, and I realized that we were actually hurting people, and throwing our lives away for no good reason.  That there had to be a better way to do business."  Spike looked down at his boots, talking to the carpet.  "I wanted out, and this job with the Stone Dogs was the perfect opportunity.  Leave a little blood and DNA at the scene, disappear, and everyone thinks I'm dead."

"So why'd you come back?" Mao asked quietly.  Spike looked up past him out the window.  

"Because Julia wouldn't come with me; and because Vicious knew what I had planned, and sent her to kill me.  I couldn't in all honor let her come back alone.  She would have been a target for reprisals."  

"Vicious must not have really wanted you dead, if he sent Julia to kill you," Mao laughed.  "Really, I'm going to have to send that girl to Anastasia for some training, one day."  It was Spike's turn to quirk an eyebrow.  It seemed that _everyone_ really did know that Julia was a bad shot.  Spike shook his head to return his focus.

"The funny thing is that Julia wanted our lives to stay the same, and Vicious thought that if I killed Julia, I would have no reason to leave, and everything would stay the same; and so now I'm stuck here in a life that I've grown to hate because my lover and my best friend don't want to change."  Spike forced himself to smile.  "I can't lead my cohort, because I don't believe in what we're doing anymore.  I don't know what to do, Mao.  Isn't that hilarious?"

"You know, I had a bet with the Van that you'd be the first to grow a conscious.  They were backing Lin, but I knew better."  Spike felt his eyes widen at this seemingly unrelated comment.  

"The Van makes bets?  Somehow, that image is just wrong," Spike said.  Mao laughed.

"I could tell you things about the Van that would straighten even your hair, Spike."

"Please don't, I'm already scared enough of them as it is," Spike, running his hand through his hair, laughed hard, feeling all of the tension that had built up during the day release.

"Good, that's as it should be," Mao said sagely.  "Since you've grown this conscious, I'm going to let you in on a secret Spike.  I've been in negotiations with the White Tigers, to find your 'better way.' " Spike felt his jaw sag.

"But they're the enemy."

"Yes, but an alliance between our Clans would drive the smaller syndicates out of business, and the constant warfare would end.  So you see, you are not alone in feeling that the old way is wrong.  We are at a delicate stage of negotiations now, however, and a war with the Stone Dogs would have jeopardized everything that I have worked for so far.  So, despite the pain that all of this has caused you,  I'm really glad you came back.  I wish you had come to me earlier, though.  But it is the prerogative of the young to be selfish."  

"I thought you would be disappointed in me.  That's why I didn't come to you."  

"Disappointed?  You just won me four million woolongs.  Just don't let it happen again; you nearly gave me a heart attack!"  Spike smiled, this would be an easy promise to keep.

"Yes, sir," he said with a mock salute as he stood to leave.  Mao raised his hand to stop him.

"There are two more things before you go.  Julia and Vicious are not alone in wanting things to stay the same.  There are others who would do anything to stop the negotiations with the Tigers, and this near war with the Stone Dogs has shown them that you are a weak spot for me.  Someone may try to use you to force me to stop the talks; I cannot let that happen, so, your cohort is to be disbanded as of tomorrow.  They'll all be given promotions and scattered around the Solar System.  It seems that you'll get to go into hiding after all, my boy."  Spike bit his lip but nodded.

"You said two things, sir?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," Mao said, turning his chair toward the window to take in the view of Tharsis at night.  "Put the other netsuke back before you leave."


	3. Part 2 - Vicious

Author's note: First Julia has a spine, and now Vicious has reasons? ….yep this  is definitely an Alternative Universe…

Disclaimer:  Cowboy Bebop is owned by Bandai/Sunrise.  If I had owned Cowboy Bebop, I'd be rich now, but I'm not, so don't sue me… 

OTHER CHOICES (PART 2)

The rain had finally stopped, and the dusty pink Martian clouds had cleared away to reveal a rusty orange twilit sky.  The bright lights of Tharsis City washed away the pale moon light of Phobos rising in the west, and Deimos up above.  The cold night air made Spike glad, for once, that he wore the heavy black coat with gold trim that marked him as a Red Dragon.  It was his only concession to the protocol.  He hated the obviousness of the coat; it went against his instinctive habit of blending into a crowd.  Tonight, however, the coat was a double blessing:  it was warm, and seeing it, people went out of their way to avoid him, making an almost protective corridor around him, leaving him to his thoughts.

All too soon, he came to the imposing Dragon headquarters.  As he walked through the double sliding glass doors of the Red Dragon Building he noticed that there were more people than usual in the lobby.  Of course, there was always someone in the lobby; the doors were never closed, but to see so many Syndicate coats gathered in one place was a little disconcerting.

Conversations hushed around Spike as he looked for members of his cohort.  Vicious, with his anomalous white hair was easy to spot.  Lin, Roshi, Dylan, and Spinoza surrounded him in a tight knot.  As Spike made his way toward them, Lin was the first to look up and see him.  Spike watched his eyes widen in shock as he stood.  The others all watched his progress through the room in various states of stunned surprise, all except Vicious, whose face betrayed nothing.  Spike nodded acknowledgement toward him.

"Did someone decide to throw a party and forget to invite me?" Spike asked facetiously.  Dylan grinned as Roshi and Spinoza jostled each other to get near him.

"Spike…you're alive…we had heard…" Lin began breathlessly.

"Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated." Spike smirked.  "Hey, I've always wanted to say that."

"What happened?" Lin asked.  "Zumi, Ryokan and Ansari are out looking for you.  And we don't know where Julia is.  I swear Mao was going to declare war on the Stone Dogs if they don't find you."  Spike raised an eyebrow at this news. 

"Then I should probably go up and see him before this gets any more out of hand," he said.  

"Of course," Lin said, curbing his curiosity.  "We'll come with you."  Spike shook his head.  

"No, I got myself into this, and I'll get myself out of it.  I need you all to wait here for the others," he said as he got onto the escalator to the mezzanine level.  "Vicious, you're with me," he called down coolly over his shoulder.

Vicious followed him up, taking the moving stairs two at a time to catch up to him.  "So, you came back," he whispered in his river gravel voice.  Spike looked askance at the man whom he had trusted with his back for all of the years he had been a member of the Dragon clan.  Their friendship was such that they had long ago given up telling each other the polite lies that kept people civilized.  

"So, you sent Julia to kill me," Spike mocked him quietly.  Vicious raised an eyebrow, but he wasn't surprised.

"If I had wanted you dead, Spike, I wouldn't have sent _Julia_ to kill you.  Everyone knows that she couldn't hit the broadside of a barn at twenty paces."  Spike had to laugh in spite of himself at the image of Julia shooting at a barn.

"What was your point then?" he asked, pushing the button for the express elevator.  Vicious smiled coldly.

"I told you once not to trust her; someone who could be manipulated into trying to kill the leader of her own cohort.  She has no honor."  

"You're a cold bastard, Vicious."  

"It takes one to know one, Spike."  The elevator door opened, and they both got in.  "So, did you kill her?" he asked simply, only his gray eyes hinted at the slight hope his question held.  He knew that death was the only punishment for one caught in such a betrayal.  Spike narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips dangerously.  The doors closed, and he keyed the code that would allow them direct, nonstop access to the penthouse.

"The only thing that is keeping me from kicking you ass right here and now is that it would bring dishonor onto the Clan," Spike said coolly.  No Dragon would ever do violence in his own house.  Any who did would be forced by the Van to commit suicide in some extremely horrible and public manner.  Spike put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall, watching his friend for any sign of regret.  There was none.  "Why did you hate her so much, Vicious?  You never hated any of the others."

"I didn't hate her." Vicious said, picking up on the past tense.  "She was a nice girl. . . fun in bed. . ."

"Don't push me, Vicious," Spike growled.  He had known that Vicious and Julia had an affair, but that had been a long time ago.

"Spike, you're my best friend.  We've watched each other's backs from the beginning.  What kind of friend would I be if I let you run headlong into a dangerous situation without at least trying to warn you?" he asked, with sincerity.  Spike shook his head.

"I don't understand you.  What are you trying to say?  How _was_ Julia a danger to me?"

"She made you _weak_, Spike!  You're right, I never hated any of your other girlfriends because you were never serious about any of them.  But for that jade, that piece of ass," he didn't stop talking, didn't even blink, despite the fact Spike's high kick stopped just millimeters from the bridge of his nose, "you were willing to throw away years of hard work, your friends, and your life.  And for what?  To become a nobody whom the clan would kill at the first opportunity?  And you don't think that she was a danger to you?"  There was no hint of the arrogant, smug Vicious anywhere in this speech.  Spike dropped out of the kick, and ran his hand through his hair, nonplussed.  This morning he had had everything figured out; now, it seemed that he had a lot of thinking to do.  The elevator neared the penthouse.

"I didn't kill her, Vicious.  She never drew the gun on me." Spike said softly.  Vicious' eyes widened in surprise.

"But, but you came back," he stammered as the door opened.  Spike nodded, stepping out of the car.

"Go back down with the others, I'll be back as soon as possible," he said.  Spike felt a sick dread in the pit of his stomach.  He had just lied to his best friend.  Not overtly, never overtly, but it was a lie just the same.  He hadn't wanted to come back at all.  The hole that he was digging for himself just kept getting deeper and deeper.  Spike saw Vicious smile a genuine smile as the elevator door closed.


	4. Part 4 - The Cohort

Disclaimer:  I don't own Cowboy Bebop, Bandai/Sunrise does.  This is just for fun, and I REALLY am  poor…

_Author's note:  I know that some of you think that Vicious isn't 'vicious' enough yet, but you have to remember that he wasn't always the Vicious that we know and love. (I hope that makes sense.)  It takes some time to grow that hard and bitter.  Have patience with me._

_Namaste is a greeting in Eastern India and means "the light within me bows to the light within you"_

_I read somewhere that in every good story, the writer makes a bad situation for the protagonist worse…_

OTHER CHOICES (PART FOUR)

"CODE RED, EMERGENCY ROOM SIX, STAT."  Spike awoke with a gasp; he hadn't meant to fall asleep.  He had been having that old nightmare again: the one where his fake eye watched the operation to install it.  There also was a fish involved somehow.  He hadn't had that dream in a long time.  It must have been the strong antiseptic smell of the hospital, the one that never really covered the smell of blood and sickness and death that made him dream about that.  

He sighed as he sat up on the cot that he had been curled upon.  Julia, her golden hair streaked with forest green, lay balled up at the other end.  Ansari sat in a chair across the room, knees hugged to her chest, sobbing softly; her tears made streaks through the lavender dye on her face.  Lin, his face dyed red and saffron, was draped across a chair in a position guaranteed to leave him with a crick in his neck when he awoke.  Roshi was vainly trying to get comfortable on his own couch, but he kept forgetting his shoulder wound.  Zumiko, Spinoza and Dylan were dead.  The STAT code had probably been for either Vicious or Ryokan.  Spike looked sadly at the tattered remains of his cohort, and angrily wondered how the hell this had happened.  He had meant for their last night together to be a happy one.

***

Spike returned to a lobby that was quieter than it had been when he went up.  Since there was to be no war, most of the Black Coats were gone.  His cohort was a study in feigned nonchalance as they watched the moving stairs bringing him back down to earth.  Even Julia was there, sitting across from Vicious and giving him covert evil eyes when she thought that no one was looking at them.  Lin, always impulsive, hopped up to meet him, but the grim look on Spike's face must have stopped him from asking whatever question was on his mind.  "I have good news and bad news," Spike said quietly, "which do you want to hear first?"  They all  looked at one another before Vicious spoke up.

"Bad news, first," he said in an equally quiet voice.  Spike acknowledged him with a nod.

"Our cohort is to be disbanded as of tomorrow," Spike said waiting for the inevitable explosion.  It came right on cue.  Variations of the phrases "What the hell?" "How could they?" "You're joking," tore from nine throats.  He watched their consternation, keeping his face mask-like.

"You _did_ say that there was good news, right?" Dylan asked as the others quieted down.  Spike nodded to him.  Nine pairs of hopeful eyes looked at him.

"You are all promoted, as of tomorrow.  Congratulations," Spike said with a big fake smile.  Even Vicious, who rarely showed what he was feeling, looked stunned.  "Oh come on, it's not that bad.  Every one of you is the best 'something' in the Clan.  All of this talent pooled in one place was bound to attract the attention of the elders eventually.  Most of you will be leading your own cohorts, some will move to the business side of things."

"And what about you?" Lin finally got to ask one of the questions that must have been eating away at him all afternoon.  "Are you in trouble for this afternoon?  What the hell happened, anyway?"  Spike watched as Julia and Vicious eyed each other warily.

"I'll learn my fate when you learn your new assignments; and Mao has asked me not to say anything about what happened today."  

"You can't even tell _us_?" Zumiko asked indignantly in her piping voice.  Spike quelled her with a raised eyebrow.

"What part of '_Mao_ has asked me not to say anything,' did you miss, Zumi?" Spike asked facetiously.  Zumi had the grace to blush; her two black pigtails drooped as she hid her face.  "Now since this is to be the last time we all see each other for a while…"

"Wait a minute, what does _that_ mean?" Julia asked forcefully.  Vicious smirked at her.

"Hmmm…I forgot that part…we are being scattered as well as disbanded.  From what I understand, you will all be going to various cities and moons and satellites where the Clan has business."  A combined "What" arose from the group.  Julia looked stricken.  "This is politics.  I'm sure the elders want to see how well you do on your own."  The lie came easy:  Spike had practiced it all the way down on the elevator.  Spike watched as most of his cohort did the proverbial "gnashing of teeth".  The really ambitious members, Vicious, Ansari and Spinoza, seemed pleased at this turn of events.  "As I was saying, since this is our last night together, I thought we should, I don't know, do something silly, fun.  We haven't had the opportunity in a long time to go out as a group and just get totally shit-faced drunk.  I know that no one really feels like celebrating, but a promotion is a promotion."

"Well, today is Holi, in the Hindustan quarter" Ansari spoke up.  "I was on my way there when we were called here.  It's the Indian Festival of Colors."  Roshi frowned.

"The last time Ansari picked a festival for us, we ended up getting purified four times."

"Get bent, Roshi…you need all of the purification you can get.  Anyway, this festival is not like that at all.  There are bonfires on every corner, and dancing in the streets and food everywhere,"  Ansari smiled wistfully.

"Food, huh?  That means Spike's there for sure," Ryokan broke in, smiling.

"Yeah, he's a stomach on legs!" Spinoza added.  Everyone laughed for what seemed to be the first time today.

"If you are going to stand there and make jokes at my expense, I'm leaving you home," Spike said with mock severity.  Spinoza held his hands up in mock surrender.  "Besides, when you grow up hungry, you never want to miss an opportunity to eat."

"Ooh, and then there's the _bhang_," Ansari continued, smiling.  "You haven't been drunk until you've experienced _bhang_…worst hangover of my life."

"Then the prairie oysters will be on me," Spike announced.  That got a collective 'ewwwwww'  from the group.

"You get near me with one of those things," Zumi said threateningly, "and it really _will_ be on you."  

"I don't want to hear any bitching about how your head hurts tomorrow, Zumi," Spike smirked.  "Well, this sounds like a promising beginning.  One last thing; this is a casual outing.  Everyone lose the suits and coats.  We don't want to scare the civilians."

"Well that leaves Vicious out," Julia said cattily.  "I don't think he owns anything casual."  Vicious gave her an icy smile.

"Bite me bitch," he said coldly.

"Is that an invitation, Vicious?  Been there, done that," Julia said serenely.  

"Enough, you two!" Spike yelled before they got completely out of hand and said something best left unsaid.  "You will not ruin tonight for the rest of us.  After tomorrow, you won't have to deal with one another.  We are all having a good time tonight, is that clear?" Both nodded sullenly.  Spike sighed.  "Good.  Vicious can wear something of mine.  We'll all meet back here in thirty minutes, all right?"

The group soon found out what Ansari had conveniently forgotten to mention about The Festival of Colors.  The streets were indeed full of riotously colorfully dressed drunk people laughing and dancing to a great band.  Gorgeous food smells permeated the air, and bonfires did indeed dot almost every corner.  Ansari hung back as the group went up to the first merchant on the street.  "Namaste," the old man said, handing Spike a balloon full of water.  Spike looked at this gift dubiously.  The old man smiled, "You are tourists here for Holi, no?" 

"Yes…"  The old man yelled something in Hindi, and people in the crowd near them began pelting them with the water balloons full of cold colored water, dusting them with colored powders and shooting them with water guns, all the while shouting 'Namaste!' and laughing.  Within seconds they were all drenched and as brightly colored as everyone else in the crowd.  Ansari, completely dry, laughed at the look on their faces.  

"You did say 'silly,' Spike, remember?" she asked innocently.

Spike watched Vicious, his hair dyed a brilliant peacock blue, his eye twitching, take up a balloon, and with the deadly quickness that he was famous for, hit her squarely in the face. "Let's _get_ her!" he growled.  The balloons, water guns and powders were freely available at any stand on the street, and soon they were all running, and dancing through the crowd, laughing and screaming "Namaste" and pelting and being pelted by anything that moved.  The bon fires dried them off, and the _bhang_, which, without a doubt, packed the punch that Ansari promised, warmed them up.  They partied throughout the night, and only left when the brief Martian sunrise sent the last of the revelers indoors.  

They made their way drunkenly across town to an all night dive called Mufassa's Chicken and Waffle Shack, a few blocks from the Dragon headquarters.  Drunk and happy, they pushed tables together, while the staff, who knew exactly who they were dealing with, despite the dyes, went about the business of filling their orders by heart.  And that's when the shooting started…

***

  
"CODE BLUE, EMERGENCY ROOM EIGHT, STAT."  Spike felt himself shiver.  A "Code Blue" meant that the patient had stopped breathing, while "Code Red" had something to do with the blood.  He had just stood to ask the nurse if there was any news, when the doors swung open and Mao and Annie appeared and motioned him over.  Spike moved slowly, in order to keep the room from spinning too fast.  Mao pulled him from the waiting room as Annie stayed behind to check on the others.  "I am so sorry, Spike, I had no idea that they would move this fast against you.  You have to leave now."  Spike watched Mao's mouth move, but his brain wasn't quite connecting the dots yet.

"You think this has something to do with your negotiations?"  Spike murmured fuzzily.  Mao nodded.

"Almost certainly."

"Then that means someone in the Clan ordered a hit on my cohort?  Where is the honor in that?"  Mao tsked him.

"Everything is packed and ready:  you are leaving now."  The words finally penetrated Spike's brain.  He shook his head.

"I can't leave now, we have to find out who did this; somebody has to pay…"

"Spike, remember that this attack wasn't aimed at you, but at me.  Thus, the revenge will be mine to mete out.  I assure you that nothing will stop me from having that revenge, but for now, I want you out of the way."

"But…"

"Don't make me have you carried out of here like a sack of dirty laundry, Spike.  Just come along quietly."  Mao herded him out of the hospital and into a private car.  Spike watched the hospital retreat into the cityscape as Mao's car drove him to the spaceport.

"I didn't even say goodbye," he murmured, pressing his pounding head unto the cool glass.  "Julia and Vicious, Ansari and Lin and Roshi, what will they think of me?"  Mao had no answer for him.


	5. Part 5 - The Bounty

Disclaimer:  Cowboy Bebop is not mine, I wish it were, but alas, it belongs to Bandai/Sunrise…(if it were mine, I wouldn't be sitting here contemplating buying everyone in my family tube socks and underwear for Christmas).

Author's note: Sorry that this one is so short.  I have no idea where this is going…but as long as people keep reading it, I guess I'll keep writing it.

OTHER CHOICES (PART 5)

"If you wish to drown, do not torture yourself with shallow water." – Bulgarian proverb

Spike Spiegel sat, looking at a snapshot, nursing a whiskey, in a smoke filled bar in one of the many seedy casinos run by the Blue Snake Clan on Tijuana.  The lounge was nearly empty despite the fact that the band, an old style jazz combo, was wailing.  TJ, he decided, taking a drag on his cigarette, had to be the armpit of the Solar System.  The asteroid was extremely bucolic, with farms spreading up from TJ's one city to the sharply curved horizon.  Even the traffic lights were slow here.  All and all, it was the perfect place to hide…except that he was bored out of his mind.  Julia had been so right, he was an adrenaline junkie, and he needed the rush.  Boredom was the only excuse that he could find for the trouble that he found himself in now.

"Spike, are you listening to me?" Mao had asked him with some asperity on the way to Tharsis starport.  Spike, his head still against the window, had opened one eye.

"Why does everybody ask me that?" he had groused; the death of some of the members of his cohort as well as being hung over had served to make him more than a little grouchy.  God damn conscious, he had thought.

"Because you are an impulsive hothead who never listens, that's why," was Mao's answer.  Spike had closed his eye again and sighed, he couldn't deny the truth.

"You said that I am to disappear, not drawing any attention to myself."  Spike had said in order to prove that he had indeed been listening.

"Spike," Mao's voice had sounded almost fatherly, "I know that you want to sink into your grief, and that you think that I'm a nagging old man, but this is important.  I won't be able to help you much once you are off planet.  I know you have the independence of mind, courage and the skill to get yourself out of almost any trouble, but I'm also hoping that you have the wits not to get into trouble in the first place."

So, it was definitely ironic that Spike found himself in a Blue Snake casino, surrounded by casual seeming Blue Snake enforcers ready to beat the living shit out of him the moment he left the premises.  In fact, there was only one true civilian in the lounge watching the band.  He smiled wistfully at the photograph, the last shot of his cohort together, as he took another sip of his whiskey.  He couldn't be blamed if he could see right through the ways that they were cheating their patrons, he rationalized for the people in the picture.  It was one of the advantages of his fake eye.  Of course, it wasn't being very circumspect to break the bank at four different casinos in less than a week, but really, there wasn't anything else to _do_ on TJ. 

The Blue Snakes were small fries.  Honestly, any member of his cohort, even Julia, as bad a shot as she was, could have come in and taken over this place within two weeks.  He sighed as he put the photograph back into his wallet, his heart constricting just a little.  God damned conscious.  He stubbed out the cigarette, drained the last of the whiskey, and left a chip under the glass as a tip for the cocktail waitress.  It was time to see if his wits, courage and skills could actually get him out of this mess.

He sauntered nonchalantly out of the lounge and into the casino proper.  He dropped a few coins into a slot machine near the door as he waited for the Blue Snakes to follow him.  The six thugs did not disappoint.  Spike shook his head as he watched all of them leave the lounge as a group:  they obviously had no subtly.  He felt his evil smirk coming out as he left the slot machine and walked through the front door.  He whistled to himself as he turned down the alley, making sure that he made enough noise for his would be assailants to follow him by.  Three came up from behind him, while the other three had circled the building to block his path.  He nodded to the leader, and with a casualness meant to infuriate, said: "Yo."

"Our boss would like to speak to you," said the leader, a burly guy who looked like he was used to getting his way a lot.  Spike raised his eyebrow.  Every move he made from now until the end of the fight was calculated to enrage his opponents, make them do foolish things.

"I don't know your boss, and frankly, I don't care what he would like.  You're in my way, so if you would, please step aside, I have somewhere I need to be."  And just like that, that fight was on.  Spike rarely actually took the first swing in any fight, generally he let his opponent's momentum carry him into a situation that he couldn't get out of.  Spike easily threw the leader into two of his own men.  A roundhouse kick, a leg sweep and a right cross later, he could tell that this wasn't going to be much of a fight.  He decided to end it quickly; it really wasn't a lot of fun to fight someone so outmatched.  

Spike was surprised to hear the sound of a single person clapping when the last of the Blue Snakes went down in a groaning heap.  He turned quickly to find the civilian from the lounge leaning against a wall.  "I saw them following you out, and I came to see if you needed any help, kid.  Obviously not."  Spike lit a cigarette as the balding stranger began efficiently tying up the Blue Snake muscle using ISSP issue flex-cufs.

"You ISSP?" he asked cautiously.

"Nope, I'm a bounty hunter," the stranger drawled as he toed the leader.  "These six are collectively worth three hundred thousand woolongs."  Spike smirked down at the now trussed up Snakes.

"Small fries," he murmured.  The bounty hunter grinned at him.

"Yep, they're small fries, unlike you, Spike Spiegel," he said pulling a gun.  "You just happen to be worth eight million back on Mars."  Spike felt his jaw sag in amazement.  "Don't move, and no one gets hurt."

"What the Hell?!" he asked, stunned, the cigarette almost dropping from his lips.  For half a second his brain refused to work, but then his body took over.  He quickly kicked the gun away, and just as quickly dropped the bounty hunter with a kick to the temple.  Spike started to leave when something made him look back at the seven people lying dazed in the alley.  He really couldn't just leave them there for the vultures to pick clean.  The six Blue Snakes were worth money, and the bounty hunter had information that he needed.

God damn conscious, he thought as he leaned against the alley wall and tried to figure out how he was going the move them all.


	6. Part 6 - Jet Black

Disclaimer:  I don't own Cowboy Bebop, Bandai/Sunrise does.  If they are going to sue, they should remember that they are dealing with a person who was seriously considering giving tube socks as Christmas presents (or that processed meat/cheese log thing that only turns up in Malls only during the holidays).  You've all been warned.

_Author's note:  Remember, this is an Alternative Universe…things have changed…_

OTHER CHOICES (Part 6)

The alley by the Blue Quetzal Casino was now littered with only ordinary trash.  The last of the Blue Snake enforcers had been bundled into the police cruiser, and Spike watched nervously as the police officer placed the cash card into the reader for the transfer.  There was a flash, and a beep as the card slid out.  The officer handed him the card with a small flourish.  "Thank you Mr. Black.  Tijuana can sleep a little safer knowing that these guys are behind bars."  The plan was an extremely simple one:  let the TJ police do their jobs by collecting the bounty on the Blue Snake small fries.  The card's true owner, one Jet Black, on the other hand, was hidden behind the dumpster.

"Thank _you_, officer," Spike smirked, as he made a show of checking the new balance; he knew that the Blue Snakes would be out of jail within the next two hours.  He placed the card back into the bounty hunter's wallet.  The officer was getting back into his car when he stopped.

"Is there someplace we can drop you off, Mr. Black?" Spike shook his head in order to hide his irritation.  Some people just never knew when to leave.  Of course, if they were in the Blue Snakes employ, they would probably want to keep tabs on him.  

"Nah, I think I'll go into the casino and give them a few of my hard earned woolongs.  Besides, I hear that the band is really good," he winked at the officer.  "But thanks for the offer."  The officer nodded knowingly, and with that got into the car and drove off.  Spike sighed with relief, running his hand through his hair.  He went to the dumpster and retrieved the bounty hunter, who seemed to be waking up.  Spike propped him against the wall and left his wallet beside him.  He sat on the opposite side of the alley, lit a cigarette, and studied the man, while waiting, with the man's gun in hand, for him to revive.

"Oooh, what hit me?" the bounty hunter groaned, running his robotic hand over his bald head.  Spike had wondered about that arm; medical science could have easily replaced it.

"If I had to guess, I'd say a size 14 ½ boot," Spike answered getting the man's instant attention.

"Why are you still here? And where are the Blue Snakes?"  Spike took note of the fact that the man was awake enough to not only notice the empty alley, but also that he didn't have his gun.  He inwardly applauded.

"The Blue Snakes are on their way to jail for a few hours; you are now 300 thousand woolongs richer; and I have some questions for you.  By the way, I should ask you for 80% of those woolong's, since I did most of the work."

"Keep dreaming, kid," the bounty hunter growled.  "What do you think to gain from this?"  

"Some answers.  Like, who put a bounty on me, and what I've supposedly done to deserve it?"

"Try the murder of four syndicate members: Zumiko Ogawa, Dylan Lynas, Ryokan Jensen, and Muhammad Spinoza. From what I gathered, it was some internal syndicate politics.  Not that they will be deeply missed."  Spike felt a rage so deep that he maintained his outer calm by force of will alone

"You don't approve of the syndicates?  That's kind of unusual for a former ISSP officer, considering that you are all on the take," Spike said, as he blew smoke in the bounty hunter's direction, trying to goad the man.  He watched as the barb hit its mark; the metal fingers twitched ever so slightly.

"I was never on the take… wait a minute, how did you know…" the man started.

"That you were ISSP?  I had to look in your wallet in order to receive the bounty.  Not on the take, huh?  That explains 'former,' then."  The man frowned as he finally noticed that his wallet was on the ground next to him.  He picked it up and went through the contents, noting that nothing was missing, and checked the cash card with some surprise.  The entire 300 thousand woolongs was indeed there.  He harrumphed.

"You seem a pretty decent sort for a Mafioso.  So tell me, why'd you murder members of your own Clan?"

"You don't know anything about it.  They were members of my cohort and my friends.  There is no way _I _would have murdered them."

"There are a couple of things that I _do _know.  One, I know that I have yet to meet the bounty-head who doesn't claim that he's innocent.  Two, I know that it seems that you are here on TJ hiding.  Although you aren't doing it very well, considering how you've pissed off the Blue Snakes."  Spike grimaced at that.  

"That in and of itself should prove that I wasn't exactly _in_ hiding.  Well, that and the fact that I'm sitting here talking to you at all.  By all rights, I should've just left your ass in the dumpster."

"Yes, you should have.  So, kid, if you are so innocent, why is there a bounty on your head?" Spike thought for a moment.

"Not that I owe you any explanations, but it's like you said:  politics.  My mentor, Mao Yenrai, wants to take the Red Dragon legit.  There are those in the Clan who would do anything to stop that, and my cohort and I became pawns.  Simple."  And all of a sudden, it was simple to Spike.  Whoever it was that had placed this bounty on him wanted to use him against Mao, and Spike would be damned if he was going to let that happen.  He had to find this person or persons and stop them.  

"Want to know something strange?  I actually believe you," the older man laughed.  "Not that my belief will help you in the long run.  There are at least 300,000 bounty hunters in the system, and 8 million woolongs is a mighty tempting haul.  So what do you plan to do now?"

"That's none of your concern," Spike said shortly,  "I just need to know who placed the bounty." 

"I take it you're going to do something stupid, huh?  I really couldn't tell you who placed that bounty, but I _could_ find you that information. Tell me why I should though.  After all, you're a criminal."  Spike narrowed his eyes.

"Never mind, I'll find it myself," Spike said, unloading and pocketing the clip of the Walther P99, while placing the gun on the ground.  He stood, and dropped the half smoked cigarette, crushing the embers with his toe.  "You should probably leave soon.  For some odd reason, the Blue Snakes and the TJ police have the mistaken impression that I'm you.  And we both know how notoriously corruptible small fry police are."  Spike smiled down at him.  Jet Black smirked back at him.

"Some advice kid, before you go:  if you ever _do _decide to go into 'hiding,' you should at least try to disguise your hair."  Spike chuckled at that, people had been trying to change his hair forever.

"You're just jealous," he said over his shoulder.  "See you around, Jet Black."  Spike walked, hands in pockets, down the alley.  He stopped in the shadows and flattened himself against the wall upon hearing voices in the street proper.

"How the hell did that scrawny little twerp get the jump on all of them?"  Scrawny?! Spike thought angrily, as he motioned down the alley for the bounty hunter.  He placed his finger on his lips as Jet Black got up and started to ask something.  "The boss is really starting get pissed off at this guy.  He said that instead of just the regular ass kicking we should make an example of him.  You know, like what we did to that Venusian guy."  The other voice chuckled.  Jet Black reached the mouth of the alley and crouched in the shadows.

"According to the cops, he's just some random cowboy, and his hunk of junk ship is parked near the gate.  Our best bet to get our money back would probably be to catch him there.  Speaking of money, the cops want us to reimburse them for that bounty, too."  

"Screw the cops, they should have picked the guy up in the first place…" the voices faded into the background noise of Tijuana City as the Blue Snakes moved away form the alley.

"Well, that just can't be good," Jet Black drawled in a bemused tone.  Spike grinned at the understatement.  "And my ship is not a hunk of junk.  I paid good money for that ship," he began to grouse.

"Whatever," Spike said to stop the man in mid-tirade.  "I really don't care if your ship is the latest model Bentley zip craft or some long assed hoopty.  We need to figure out a way to get out of this alive and unhurt."

"Well, this is all your fault.  If I had the sense that God gave little green apples, I'd give you over to them. That would sure solve _my_ problems."  Spike had to laugh:  that _would_ solve the bounty hunter's problems.

"You wouldn't do that.  Your sense of honor is too well developed, besides, you hate the syndicates, remember?"  Jet Black harrumphed again.  Spike was glad that he pegged him right.  "If I can get us out of this, will you find out who placed that bounty on me?"

"So, I take it you have a plan to get us both out of this unscathed?"  

"Don't you trust me?" Spike smirked.  Jet Black didn't look amused.

"As far as I can pick you up and throw you, but I don't seem to have a choice about this, now do I?"  Spike nodded at the assessment, the bounty hunter was sharp.

"Decency, ain't it a bitch?"  The bounty hunter narrowed his eyes, and Spike decided not to push him too much further.  "How's your acting?" Spike asked, thoughtfully.  Jet Black raised an eyebrow at him.

A little while later, Spike, in full Dragon regalia, and Jet in a black suit carrying a black briefcase, swept past the startled guards and secretary and into the offices of one Joshua Van Pelt, leader of the Blue Snake Clan of Tijuana.  "I hear you've been looking for me," Spike said coldly.  Jet closed the door behind them and looked menacing.  The office, in the local strip mall on main street, was tacky, with a western motif that tried much too hard:  pink and orange pastels and cacti and an actual cow skull on the wall.  Van Pelt reached his gun, but Jet already had his drawn.  "I wouldn't try anything if I were you," Spike said quietly.  "My man here never misses at this range."  Jet frowned ominously.

"Who…" Van Pelt started, but Spike cut him off with a frosty look and a small gesture.

"Who _I _am is not important, who I _represent_ is.  The Red Dragon is planning to expand its operations in the outer planets, and TJ is one of the possibilities for a…strategic holding area that we are looking at."

Van Pelt looked nonplussed.  "TJ has always belonged to the Blue Snakes, there is no room for the Red Dragon here.  I should have you killed just for the affront you've caused me."

 Spike smiled coolly down upon him as he took the seat in front of the bleached wood desk.  "Did I give you permission to speak, Mr. Van Pelt?  You would be perfectly within your rights to kill me, of course.  But if I miss certain appointments with certain people, well, my Clan would not hesitate to wipe yours off this pitiful rock," Spike put his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers together.  "And think about it like this, one person, me, can come in here and break four of your casinos in less than a week, place six of your enforcers in jail, and sweep my way into your office just for the hell of it.  What do you think the whole Clan would do if we are at war with you?"  Van Pelt actually blanched.  Spike smirked at him.  "The way I see it, Mr. Van Pelt, you have three options.  One, you can kill me, try to scare me or rough me up, or whatever, and the Red Dragon makes it so no one on TJ utters the words 'blue' and 'snake' within three sentences of each other."  Spike watched as the Blue snake leader broke into a sweat.  "Two, I go on my way, make a report to the elders, and the Red Dragon and Blue Snakes become allies.  Of course you know that it could _never_ be an alliance of equals. Or three," Spike smiled knowingly, "I make a report to the elders saying that we want no part of TJ."  He paused, watching the Blue Snake leader absorb the words that offered some sort of hope for his clan.  "Now, Mr. Van Pelt, which option works best for you?" he asked, leaning forward on the desk.

"What does option three cost me?" Van Pelt asked in a strangled voice.  Spike rubbed his chin in thought.

"That depends on whether I'm dealing with a person of honor, Mr. Van Pelt.  Am I?"  The man could only nod weakly.  "Good.  In that case, there may come a time when I ask a favor of you.  You will do it without question and without seeking an advantage over me.  In return for this small promise, I will tell my elders that TJ is unsuitable for our purposes.  And to show you that I myself am a man of honor," Spike motioned Jet forward with the brief case, "I'll return most of the money that I won from your casinos.  The rest I'm keeping as a souvenir of my time on sunny Tijuana.  By the way, you really should teach your dealers to cheat better." 

***

"Wow!  _That's_ your ship? You really _are_ a brave man.  Boy, am I glad we didn't try to shoot our way out of it." Spike said as they flew, in Jet's unarmed tug, toward a beat up old fishing boat.

"Don't push your luck, kid.  Don't forget, I'm already helping you against my better judgment.  Besides, going into that office with you had to be the bravest or stupidest thing I've done in a while.  Bluffing the Blue Snakes like that took some great big cojones.  I especially liked the part where you gave him absolutely nothing that you didn't have in the first place.  You are one very scary person, Spike Spiegel."

"Nah, it's the coat," Spike said as he shrugged out of it.  "Small fries like the Blue Snakes tend to believe what they see.  And you should see it when my friend Vicious does that, it truly _is_ scary." Spike smiled to himself.  "I believe some old Earth philosopher once said something to the effect of 'Things are entirely what they appear to be and _behind them…_there is nothing.'"

"Well, that was certainly true today.  Hmmmm… that was Sartre…actually, that's kind of Zen."

"Of course it's Zen, I belong to the Chinese Mafia, remember?  So, do you have any food on this tub? I'm starving."


	7. Part 7 - On the Bebop

Disclaimer:  I don't own Cowboy Bebop, Bandai/Sunrise does; however, my birthday is coming up and if anyone would like to surprise me by getting me the rights, I wouldn't be ungrateful.  ^___^

Author's note:  When I started writing this, I had no intention of writing this many chapters, but this has been fun to play around with.  Sukiyaki is a Japanese fried dish of sliced meat with vegetables and seasonings (emphasis on meat).  Nothing much happens in this chapter, but what does happen is important later…

OTHER CHOICES (Part 7)

Spike looked dubiously at the plate before him.  Beggars can't be choosers, he reminded himself as he picked up the chopsticks and ate the first bite.  Hmmmmm, vegetarian sukiyaki, very creative, he thought with a grimace; he didn't let it stop him from polishing off the whole plate though.  "Love what you've done with the place," Spike called to the bounty hunter as he propped his feet on the low coffee table and sank back into a sofa so yellow that the color couldn't be found in nature.  Actually, for such an old ship, the Bebop wasn't half as bad as he had expected from his first outside view.

"Smart ass," Jet called down from the ship's bridge.  Spike could just hear the faint tapping of keys over the whir of the ceiling fan.  He lit a cigarette, closed his eyes and let his mind wander.  

He hadn't even known that Ryokan had died.  In all actuality, he had been trying his damnedest not to think about the situation the entire time he had been on Tijuana.  This whole bounty predicament had opened the barely scabbed over place in his heart that he hadn't wanted to acknowledge existed:  his friends' deaths were totally his fault.  He sighed as he wiped away the tear that was trying to leak from the corner of his eye.  There was no time for crying now.  Whoever had ordered the hit on his cohort was going to pay a hard price he promised himself.  Spike opened his eyes at the sound of boots on the metal stairs.

"Well, there's bad news, and bad news," Jet said coming from the bridge.  "Which do you want to hear first?" he asked as he sat on the matching yellow chair on the opposite side of the table.  Spike raised an eyebrow and took a deep drag on the cigarette.

"Hmmm…let me think about it a moment," he said, exhaling the smoke.  "Maybe, the 'bad news'."  

"According to the records, _no one_ placed that bounty on you," Jet said with some frustration.

"What?  How's that possible?" Spike blinked with surprise.

"It's not supposed to _be_ possible.  What's really interesting is that there isn't even a hacker trail that would lead me to believe that the file had been tampered with.  It seems the file was placed in the system 'as is'.  That speaks of someone with a lot of power and money, and police corruption."

"Okay, then, if that's the bad news, then what's the bad news?"  Spike asked, shaking his head over that question.

"You're hip deep in some deep shit, kid," Jet answered.

"Gee, do you _really_ think so?  What clued you in?"

"Don't get cheeky, boy, sarcasm is unbecoming, and I don't allow it on my ship.  There are still some options that I can try, but we have to go to Mars first."  Spike bit his lip, as his brows came down in thought.

"Oh.  Well.  You probably shouldn't get involved any further then.  Thanks for trying though."

"First you drag me into to this fiasco, and now you don't want my help?  What gives kid?"

"Look, going to Mars, asking the kind of questions you have to ask in order to find this person, is dangerous.  I already have four deaths on my conscious as it is.  I don't need another."

"You said that you didn't kill those people," Jet said in a dangerously quite tone, narrowing his eyes.

"I didn't, but it's still my fault."  Spike closed his eyes again.  Gods, this hurt, he thought.

"Tell me what happened, " Jet said gently.  Spike glanced at the bounty hunter through his eyelashes.  He was surprised to find that the older man looked as if he might actually care.

"I shouldn't tell you anything, you're not in the family.  Besides, most of the members of my cohort don't know."

"I can't help you if I don't know everything."

"Why do you want to help me, I'm a criminal, remember?" Spike said, throwing Jet's earlier words back at him.

"When I was on the force, they used to call me the 'Black Dog' because once I sank my teeth into a case I never let go until it was solved.  I've sunk my teeth in this, and I'm not letting go now."  Spike snorted, but gave in; maybe he would feel better if he talked about it.

"Okay.  Here's the short version:  As Mao would say, I grew a conscious.  I wanted to leave the Clan, to live a normal life," Spike said softly.  "I almost made it.  Nearly everyone thought I was dead.  Mao Yenrai was ready to start a war that would have jeopardized months of secret peace negotiations with the White Tigers, to avenge me," he sighed, and took another drag on the cigarette before stubbing it out.  "However, two people in my cohort knew the truth, and they both had ways of keeping me from leaving.  So I returned.  The war, which someone was using as an excuse to keep the Syndicate from going legitimate, didn't happen; and that someone noticed that I could be used against Mao."

"I was wrong, you're not _just _hip deep in deep shit.  You are up to your chin in deep shit."  Jet held his hand level to his chin for emphasis.

"I thought sarcasm wasn't allowed on your ship," Spike smirked.  Jet laughed.

"It's my ship, I can use sarcasm if I want to.  You on the other hand…" the bounty hunter sobered.  "So, what happens if some cowboy catches you and turns you in?"  Spike shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm sure that the police would hand me directly over to Mao's enemies," Spike said matter of factually.

"And if you find out who these people are, what then?"

"They'll be dealt with in some extremely messy and public way.  The elders generally frown upon unsanctioned violence against members of the Clan," Spike felt his evil smirk emerge.  "So, the next time you hear of some prominent businessman or politician caught in a sex scandal/money scheme/drug deal gone wrong, and he commits suicide, you can bet your ass that's not what really happened."  

"You know, just talking to you, it's almost easy to forget that you are a member of the Red Dragon; and then you'll say something like _that_.  I'll say it again, you are a scary person, Spike."

"Sometimes, maybe.  Speaking of messes, may I use your communications net?  Maybe Mao can find some information that you can't."

"Sure kid, it's up on the bridge."  Spike pushed himself off of the violently yellow sofa and walked heavily up the steps to the bridge.  He took note of the various chronometers and figured that it was about 0230 in Tharsis City.  Mao was most likely at home in bed.  He punched in the private and secure number that Mao had given him in case of an emergency.

The phone rang four times before someone fumblingly picked it up; the viewscreen remained dark.  "You have 30 seconds to convince me that this is damn important," Mao's voice snarled through the darkness.

"I'm very sorry to wake you sir," Spike said meekly, "you know I wouldn't call you unless it was an emergency."

"Spike?  Hold on," there was more fumbling, and then a lamp flare to life.  Mao, his eyes puffy with sleep, and his pajama top wrinkled, leaned in close to his viewscreen.  "What trouble have you gotten yourself into now?"  Spike frowned slightly as he decided not to mention the Blue Snake incident.

"Um, I've just discovered that I have an untraceable 8 million woolong bounty on my head for murdering four junior Red Dragon Syndicate members.  You didn't tell me that Ryokan had died."  Mao looked nonplussed but chose to ignore the last sentence.

"Untraceable?  That speaks of someone high on the Council of the Elders.  Of course, not everyone knows that there _is_ a way to trace such bounties when the money changes hands, but it is still a very clever ploy.  They must want you very badly.  I'll call and have it canceled as soon as we are off the phone."

"You didn't tell me that Ryokan had died," Spike repeated softly.  Mao frowned.

"Spike, there was nothing you could do about it, and you have other things to think about," Mao said in a tone that brooked no argument.  "We'll discuss it later."

"Yes sir," Spike said quietly.  "How is everyone else?"

"Roshi is the leader of his own cohort, and Lin is his second in command.  Ansari is in the import/export side of the business, and I pity anyone who tries to get the better of her.  Julia," Mao paused and smiled, "is with Annie learning how to shoot.  Once she is proficient, I'll take her on as my driver."  Spike smiled for the first time.  Julia was actually the best driver in the Clan, and now, no one would be able to make a joke out of her inability to shoot.

"What about Vicious?  How is he?"  

"He's still planning to take over the world, if that's what you mean.  You should know that it would take more than a couple of bullets to stop Vicious.  He's on desk duty until he is completely healed and hating every minute of it; he'll have a cohort of his own soon."  Spike nodded and smiled again.

"Now if there is nothing else, I should go and see what I can do about this bounty," Mao said, preparing to disconnect.

"Wait," Spike said as a thought came to him.  "If you cancel the bounty, then your enemy will know that you are on to him and we may lose any way we have of tracing him."

"We can't trace him until the bounty is collected, so your point is moot."

"No, it isn't.  I know of someone who could turn me in for that bounty.  You could trace the money trail, and this could be over almost as soon as I'm back on Mars."  Spike said excitedly.  Mao frowned in thought.

"It's a possibility, but I don't like it.  It's dangerous, and too many things could go wrong; we'll find some other way to find this enemy."

"But this is the quickest way, and I won't be in any danger, I'll be a valuable hostage.  Besides, they can't blackmail you if you already know what's going on," Spike pleaded his case.  Mao shook his head obviously trying to find a hole in the plan.

"I'm sure there is a flaw in your logic somewhere," he said.

"Sir, with all due respect, I'm tired of looking over my shoulders for this person, these people.  Whoever did this needs to be punished, and this is the best chance we have to catch him."

"I'll concede that you may be right, Spike, but I still don't like it."

"Everything will be fine, you'll see.  I'll call you later with some details.  Goodnight, sir."

"Spike…be careful.  Think about every possibility, and we'll talk about this in the morning."  The viewscreen went dark as the transmission disconnected.  Spike felt a lot lighter now that there was a way out of this trouble.  He almost skipped down the steps to the living area.  Jet sat, smoking, and eating his own plate of meatless sukiyaki.

"Well, what did your boss have to say?"  Jet asked looking up at him.  Spike reclaimed his sofa.

"There is no way to trace such a bounty until the money changes hands, so you'll have to turn me in."

"What?!" Jet actually dropped his chopsticks.  "I'm sure your boss didn't say anything of the kind.  It's a ridiculous plan, and you know it.  There has to be something else you can do."

"It's a perfect plan:  it's something that no one would even suspect of _being_ a plan.  We'll totally catch them off guard."

"_We'll_?  Did I say I wanted part of this stupidity?  I now understand how my partner Fad felt when I would come up with some gung-ho scheme.  'Jet,' he'd say, 'the cold light of stupidity just came on in your eyes, and I want nothing to do with it.'"

"You said you wanted to help, and besides, it's 8 million woolongs.  I'm sure you could find _something _to do with eight million woolongs.  Reupholstering the sofa and chair comes to my mind, or maybe, I don't know, buying some meat."

"Smart ass," Jet said with some asperity, rolling his eyes.  Spike smiled, knowing he had won.

"So, is there any more sukiyaki left?" he asked hold up his empty plate.


	8. Part 8 - Betrayal

_The Usual Disclaimer Notice:  I still don't own Cowboy Bebop, Bandai/Sunrise does (no one took the hint about my birthday).  I'm still poor, so suing me would be like trying to get blood from a turnip._

Author's Note:  Sorry this took so long to write.  I had to do some research, and then I caught bronchitis (which put a serious damper on my will to do anything but lie in bed for about a week), and got a serious case of writer's block to go along with it.  "The Flower Duet" or "_Viens Mallika" is from Act 1 of Léo Delibes' opera **Lakmé, and is the theme song of the British Airways commercials.  Other than that, there's no point to this Author's Note except to show off the fact that I can now type accents...and to thank my beta reader for his insights on the inner thoughts of men…   ^___^    Anyway, in this chapter, Spike learns that he is not as smart as he thinks he is:**_

OTHER CHOICES (PART 8)

As far as Spike knew, everything was going as planned, and that was his problem:  he didn't know everything.  Mao had been informed of both the exact time that Jet planned to turn him in, and of the frequency of the rice grain sized GPS transmitter that Jet had placed in his left earlobe.  However, Spike hadn't counted on being sedated by the police.  Surely that wasn't part of ISSP standard operating procedure?  He had awakened from the drug-induced sleep to find himself blindfolded and hanging by his wrists.  He had no idea how long he had been unconscious, no idea if the transmitter had been found, no idea if he were still in Utopia City, and no idea how long he had been awake.  

Spike chuckled low in his throat.  As far as plans went, he finally had to admit to himself that this really wasn't one of his better ones.  He stood on his toes causing the rope that held his wrists in the air behind him to slacken a little, slightly relieving the strain on his shoulders.  The slack allowed him to lower his arms some, but standing on tiptoe for extended periods caused his calves to cramp, forcing him to choose between pains.  All and all, it was quite an uncomfortable way to spend an evening, he thought, as he shifted his bare feet back to the cold concrete again.  His nosed itched, and damn it!  To top it all off, he needed a cigarette!  However, a little discomfort was nothing if it helped to catch the bastard that had ordered the hit on his cohort.  He had to believe that whomever Mao sent to collect him would be here soon, that some measure of justice or retribution or whatever was going to be meted out before long; no other thought calmed the fear that was trying to overwhelm him.  He laughed at himself again.

Noises.  Spike craned his neck toward the sounds of footsteps and a bulky item being dragged across the bare concrete floor.  Then came the sound of a large sliding type door - the kind found in larger warehouses and storage facilities – opening, and a cold breeze; and Spike could tell that there were now several people in the room with him.  "Um... Hello," he said as the dragging noises continued.  No one answered him.  Whoever they were, they sounded very efficient.  The noises stopped, and the door closed.  Spike listened for signs of life, but heard nothing.  Perhaps they intended to leave him hanging with his thoughts for a little while longer.

***

Spike leaned against one of the large windows on the bridge, watching as the dark shadow of the Bebop raced ahead of the actual ship across the rocky and barren Utopia Planitia.  Potato-shaped Phobos was rising over the Utopia Crater for the third and last time of the day.  He and Jet had decided to land in Utopia City instead of Tharsis because it was the home base of the White Tigers; and as such, not only would it be that much harder for Mao's enemy to retrieve him, but it would be easy for Mao to track any Red Dragon activity in the area.  The old fishing ship slowed as it met the Utopia Crater air wall:  the air that was not thrust into the sky spilled over the sides of the crater like a waterfall.  Spike watched as the sky changed instantly from a hazy orange-pink to a hazy blue-orange-pink, and the landscape from rusty rock strewn hell to park-like paradise.  This will all be over soon, Spike thought as he watched Utopia City unfurl before the windows.  He let his mind wander back over the last week and a half, and the strange circumstances that had brought him to this point.

"Are you absolutely _sure you want to do this?" Jet asked Spike's back as the Bebop touched down in Utopia's famous Grand Central Canal.  Spike watched Jet's image in the window as the bounty hunter piloted his ship through the smaller, dirtier canali that led to the less desirable neighborhoods of Utopia. _

"No, I don't _want to do this, but it's the easiest way," Spike told Jet's reflection once again.  He had argued with both Mao and Jet about the merits of his plan several times before the Bebop had made it to the Mars gate, and neither of them had been able to come up with anything better, although Mao had insisted on a miniature GPS transmitter before he would go along with Spike's plan.  Spike watched as Jet's reflection shook its head in exasperation._

"I still think that there are too many things that could go wrong," the older man said as he began ticking off his points on his mechanical fingers.  "One:  the money _really could be untraceable.  Two:  this enemy could find and disable the transmitter, leaving your people with no way to find you.  Three:  he could easily kill you, and then just send various pieces of your body to your boss in order to string him along.  After all, he's already killed four of your friends.  But hey, it's not my life.  I'm just going along to pick up a bounty or two."  _

"You really are a mother hen, aren't you?" Spike turned and snorted as he left his place by the window.  "Look, the kind of person who can afford to put an untraceable 8 million woolong bounty on you is totally different from the average thug who would sew you into a bag of starving rats.  This person wants something from Mao, and he knows that keeping me alive is the best way to get it.  The minute Mao thinks I'm dead, he'd be on his enemy's ass like white on rice."

 "You're assuming that Mao can find out who this person is," Jet said pessimistically.  

"You don't know Mao.  He's a lot like you in a way:  he doesn't give up once he starts something.  Look, the enemy has no reason to believe that Mao even knows about the bounty, let alone that Mao would be trying to find him through it.  Hell, the enemy has no reason to believe that _I would know about the bounty or that I'm being tracked by a GPS transmitter.  You're worrying over nothing."_

"I'm not worried, I just hate half-assed plans."  Spike smirked at that statement.  "What happens when Mao gives the enemy what he wants, and he no longer needs you?"

"Mao'll never give the enemy what he wants," Spike answered confidently.  "He'll have rescued me before it ever gets to that point, or I'll be dead.  Either way, it'll be over."

"Like I said before, it's your life, I'm just along for the ride," Jet said, giving in, as they came to rest at a shabby dock near the center of the city and the ship's engines powered down.  "So, you ever do that rat thing?" he asked casually over his shoulder. 

 "Only once.  I hated doing it… too messy.  It's really an effective threat though, especially if you can find enough rats.  I mean, who'd want to be eaten alive by rats?"  Spike watched as a look of disgust cross the bounty hunter's features.  Spike had to laugh at him.  "Hey, the guy _deserved_ it.  He was a real sleazeball; the type who'd sell his grandmother if he thought he could make some money from her."

"Let's get this show on the road," Jet said grimly. "The quicker you are off my ship, the better off _I'll_ be."

The police station was a short, silent flight from the Bebop's dock in the Hammerhead.  Spike adjusted the flex-cuffs on his wrists as Jet sat the old tug down in the parking lot.  "Remember that you are supposed to act like you don't know what's going on," Jet growled as he turned to give Spike one last lecture.  "Don't get cocky and give yourself away."  

"Yes Mom," Spike smirked.  

Jet narrowed his eyes and wrinkled his nose at Spike before laughing.  "Smart ass."  Spike laughed back before sobering.

"I know you won't accept anything from the Syndicate, but if I don't get a chance to tell you later, thanks for all of your help," he said quietly.   

"I'm not doing this for you kid, remember?  I'll be watching the transmitter frequency, just in case I can pick up a bounty or two."  Spike looked sidelong at the bounty hunter and smirked.

"Whatever.  Mao has the transmitter frequency, and he is tracking bank transactions and Dragon activity in the area.  You have nothing to lose sleep about except how you're going to spend all those extra woolongs I've earned you," Spike said watching as Jet's features hardened into his bounty hunter persona.

"I won't tell you how to conduct your Syndicate business, and you don't tell me what to worry about, okay?" he said, drawing his gun and pushing Spike none to gently out of the Hammerhead.  "Let's do this."

***

Spike lost track of how many times he shifted between standing on his toes and standing flat.  He began whistling "The Flower Duet" quietly, to distract himself from his discomfort.  He really hated opera, but couldn't have helped but gain at least an appreciation for the art form through osmosis from all the time he'd spent in Mao's service.  Still, the "Flower Duet" was the only thing he knew relatively by heart, and trying to whistle all of the notes took his mind off the fact that not only was the itch across the bridge of his nose driving him crazy, but that he needed a cigarette in the worst way.  

The sliding door opened, and the blast of cold air caught him by surprise.  He stopped whistling and began trying to count the people entering the room with him.  He could hear at least four different sets of footsteps.  They closed the door again.  There was the sound of a visu-phone being dialed, the connection being made.  

"Ah, Spike Spiegel.  I've been wanting to talk to you for a very long time," an urbane, refined voice said, as Spike turned his head toward the sound.  Had he heard this voice before?  The tone, despite being compressed by the visu-phone, was definitely that of a Vip.

"You've gone through a lot of unnecessary trouble then.  After all, my number _is_ in the Tharsis phonebook," Spike said sarcastically.  The voice on the phone chuckled.

"My sources told me to expect someone with a biting wit.  I'm glad to see that it's true."

"Who are you?" Spike growled, losing patience, but remembering that he was supposed to have no idea what was going on.  "What do you want from me?"  The voice tsked.

"You are hanging in a strappado, blindfolded, surrounded by potential enemies, and yet you still demand answers.  I can see that Mao has indulged this lack of respect in you; however, you are in the presence of an elder, so it would be wise of you to question less and listen more," there was a smile in that cultured voice.

"Strappado?"  Spike didn't know the word, but it sounded ominous.

"A very ancient and straightforward torture device, Spike.  If we were both in Tharsis, I would've had something a little more elaborate waiting for you; but sometimes, the old, simple ways are best."

"So, you're going to torture me," Spike said matter of factly, not letting any of the dread he was feeling creep into his voice.  "What do you hope to gain from this?  I'm just an ordinary Black Coat."  Spike hoped to keep the man talking; he had already learned that he was still in Utopia, and of course, the word "strappado".  The Vip laughed again, and Spike was almost sure that he had heard that voice somewhere before.

"Let me tell you a little story, Spike.  Once upon a time, a boy was born in the slums of Tharsis.  His father was unknown, and his mother was of no consequence:  a drug addict who was found dead shortly after the birth of her child.  His grandmother, a poor, but decent woman, raised him, working three jobs just to keep them both fed.  She waitressed during the day, cleaned offices at night, and was a seamstress in what little spare time she had in between.  Still, she doted on the boy, taking him everywhere with her when he was young, sending him to the best school she could afford when he grew a little older.  One night, when the little boy was about eight or nine, she didn't come home from cleaning one of those downtown high-rise office buildings.  Maybe it was a heart attack, maybe she found some information in one those offices that she shouldn't have, or maybe it was a robbery gone wrong.  Whatever the reason, our little boy was now truly an orphan."  

"Eight," Spike whispered to himself.  He felt a knot of anger clinch in his stomach.  There were only six people alive now whom he had ever trusted with the true story.  This stranger was definitely not one of them.  Everyone else believed the lies in his official dossier:  his grandmother had died before he was born; his parents had been killed in an auto accident.  He had told those lies so often when he was younger that they had almost become his reality, he could recite them in his sleep.  Who could have told this man the truth?

"And so the little boy came under the auspices of the Tharsis Department of Human Services.  Two years later, he ran away from an under funded group home and landed in the streets, disappearing from the official records.  He became quite the pickpocket, a real slight of hand artist, using the money he "liberated" to buy himself food and to watch old Bruce Lee movies and for lessons in Jeet Kune Do so he could protect himself from bullies.  His determination impressed a low level Red Dragon cohort working in the area, and they made him their errand boy, lookout, and all around mascot; in return for these services they protected him from the drug dealers, the pimps and the baby rapers.  You could say that our little boy had as good a life as it gets in the streets."  

Spike felt himself grow cold.  Someone he trusted very much had betrayed him.  It was horrible to hear the story of his life from someone else's perspective.  Horrible and fascinating at the same time, and he wanted the man to stop.  He said nothing, however.  Never show an enemy a weakness.

"One day, when our boy was about thirteen, he picked the wrong pocket during an uptown street festival, or the right one, depending on the point of view.  The man turned out to be James "Jimmy" Doohan, the famous ship designer and mechanic. He was here on Mars testing his latest design for an asteroid racer.  For reasons known only to him, the mechanic took the boy in as an apprentice, and back to Earth.  And the boy thrived, becoming an excellent pilot, and a pretty fair mechanic himself.  There was only one small obstacle to our protagonist's happiness:  he and Doohan were much too alike personality-wise to get along on a daily basis.  So at seventeen, the boy came back to Mars, hooked up with a few of his former Red Dragon friends, and took the Red Dragon oaths.  He rose very quickly through the ranks: the qualities that had attracted that low level cohort and Jimmy Doohan, also attracted the elders in the Dragon ranks, and soon, our boy found himself leading one of the most important cohorts in the Clan, a cohort answerable to only Mao Yenrai."

"Is there a point to this?"  Spike forced himself to ask in an apathetic tone of voice.  There was a gap in the story, a piece missing, and Spike was glad that it seemed that the man didn't know everything about him.  The fact that someone had betrayed him hurt enough as it was.  There was a burst of static from the phone, and then came a cultivated sounding chuckle.  "What's so funny?"

"You said that you were an ordinary Black Coat.  A street urchin, unrelated to the founding families, who rises to become the heir presumptive of the most powerful Syndicate in the Solar System; I don't think _ordinary_ is the word I would use."  Spike laughed coldly.

"It's a good story but a little melodramatic don't you think," Spike said in order to puncture his tormentor's pride, but his heart wasn't in it.  His mind kept coming back to the fact that someone had betrayed him.  "Unfortunately, you're misinformed.  My grandmother died before I was born and my parents died in an accident.  Like I said, I'm just a Black Coat.  Mao hasn't named an heir, yet, and if he has, it probably wouldn't be me."

"No, Spike, I'm not misinformed; but I wouldn't be surprised if Mao hasn't told you yet.  He _does_ like to keep secrets.  For instance, did you know that he is conducting peace negotiations with the White Tigers?  Peace?  With the Tigers, of all Clans?  Mao is a beast who has lost his fangs, and he is seeking to defang the Red Dragon along with him.  Secrets like that are going to be his undoing."

"The Van must approve of what he's doing; it's not for likes of us to question the will of the Van," Spike said as he shifted to his toes and lowered his arms.  "And Mao is not as toothless as you seem to think he is.  If you think torturing me is going to persuade him to do whatever it is that you want, then you've got another thought coming."  Again, the Vip chuckled.

"I think nothing of the sort, Spike.  Mao _has_ grown weak; and while he does have a soft spot for you, he is not going to lose face twice over a 'Black Coat,' especially one who is not even his acknowledged heir yet.  And as for the Van, they were old men before they left the Earth, they are just symbols now."

"If that's true, why are you doing this?"

"You're to become an object lesson," the voice smiled again.  "I hope you understand that it's not personal.  My torturing you says to Mao that I can find and take anything I want from him; his heir, his position, anything at all.  It's just a matter of time."   Spike smirked to himself.  Mao wasn't as fangless as this Vip thought.  The leader of the Red Dragon was going to take this upstart elder down hard.  "Hickman, give our guest 15cc's of Anastazorphylline, please.  It's getting late here in Tharsis, and I'm sure that Mao will want to know that we've found his missing heir."

Two pairs of hands grabbed his shoulders, and someone began rolling up his right sleeve.  Spike relaxed, letting his bones become like water.  The man on his right, Hickman perhaps, remarked: "You know, it's going to be hard to stick him with his arms tied behind him like this."

"Did I hire you to do a job, or to complain?" the Vip asked.  Spike felt his smirk come out again.  These men were hired muscle, not members of the Clan; he had no obligation to any of them.  He visualized in his mind's eye what position the needle bearer was in and kicked with all of the force he could muster toward where the man's knee should be.  He was rewarded with a crunch of bone and a scream of pain as the man went down.  He was rushed by the other hired hands.  There were _four_ others, he had miscounted at first.  He was blindfolded and his hands were tied behind him, so he let his body absorb the blows, not really trying to fight back.  "ENOUGH," the Vip screamed through the phone, his voice losing its annoying polish.  The blows stopped raining down upon him.  Hickman could still be heard, moaning on the floor.  "What did that gain you Spike?"  Spike licked the iron tasting blood from his busted lip and smiled toward the general direction of the visu-phone before answering.

"Nothing, but it felt good," Spike smirked.  In truth, he had found out how many hired thugs were in the room with him, and now there was one less man for Mao's forces to deal with when they arrived.  The Vip laughed.  Someone poked the needle none to gently in the vein at the crook of his elbow, pumping whatever drug they were they were using in.  Spike thought that he could actually feel the liquid burn its way through his veins.

"Are you ready, Spike?" the Vip asked.  "Now the fun really begins.  Haul him up."  The rope that held his arms in the air began to tighten.  Suddenly he was in the air, rising higher and higher, dangling from his wrists, which were forced by his body weight higher behind his back.  His lungs couldn't expand properly with his arms held in this position, and he began to pant.  "The strappado was used in medieval times to torture confessions from witches.  All that was needed was rope and a high beam or tree.  The person was raised in the air by his or her wrists and dropped, sometimes as much as 20 feet or more.  The rope lost slack just before the witch hit the ground, and the resulting jerk caused his or her body weight to eventually dislocate both shoulders.  Then, there's squassation, which adds weights to the witch's body before being dropped, but we have all night to talk about that.  Now," there was an audible sneer in the Vip's voice, "let's see that smirk you are so famous for, Spike; we _do_ want Mao to recognize you."  

"Fuck you," Spike gasped.  The Vip laughed as Spike fell through space.

The breathless scream that struggled passed Spike's clinched teeth as he reached the end of the rope was nothing that he recognized as his own.


	9. Part 9 - Rescue

_The Usual Disclaimer Notice:  Cowboy Bebop isn't mine, it belongs to Bandai/Sunrise.   Damn!_

Author's Note:  Yes, there is a torture that involves goats, and no, and you probably don't want to know what it entails. Human beings have been quite inventive when it comes to hurting others.  "Vip" is V.I.P. pronounced, it's a linguistic shift that I probably should have made clear earlier.  In this chapter, Spike hangs around for a while.  My beta reader, Ckrisz, wanted co-author credit for this chapter...heh!  He's lucky that I mention him at all.   ^___^   But just to make him happy: anyone who hasn't done so yet, go read and review his story "Dragon Head Dance."  _I _like it anyway.  (While y'all are doing that, I'll be busy typing the next chapter and waiting by my mailbox for the check)…

OTHER CHOICES (Part 9)

The Vip was toying with him, Spike thought in one of his more coherent moments of the night.  All things considered, there weren't very many rational thoughts in his head other than 'Please, hurry Mao,' and 'Someone's betrayed me,' so this particular thought stood out:  the Vip was toying with him.  The first drop hadn't actually dislocated his shoulders; it was the second drop that had done that.  The Vip had signed off soon after the third drop, the first in which weights were added to Spike's feet, saying something about goats; Spike hadn't really been listening at the time; he had been too busy biting the insides of his cheeks to keep from screaming again.  Frankly, it wasn't working.  'Goats?' the thought skittered briefly through his mind, quickly forgotten, replaced by pain.

The hired men then pulled him only a foot or so above the floor, letting him hang for what seemed like hours; his dislocated shoulders now allowing his arms to rise straight above his head, the weights pulling him inexorably downward.  Someone would jerk on the rope every once in a while, sending waves of agony down his arms, through his shoulders and back.  It was strange, but Spike became acutely aware of every pain in his body: the rope burns on his wrists, the headache from clinching his teeth and nicotine withdrawal, his tongue and cheeks where he had bitten them, the bruises from being punched, his lungs from having to pant, his arms and shoulders…

"So, are we just supposed to sit here and watch him for the rest of the night?" someone groused.  Spike gathered his pain-scattered wits, forcing himself to listen to his tormentors.

"It's what we're being paid to do," someone else, probably the leader, answered, the shrug obvious in his voice.  "Besides, the boss didn't say anything against us having a little fun of our own with him," there was another jerk on the rope, causing Spike to groan in surprise.  "After what the little bastard did to Hickman, he deserves whatever we can think of."  Spike tried to laugh.  It came out as an agonized, hoarse cough.  "Oh, you think that's funny, do you, Stickboy?"

"You think you'll live to spend that money?"  Spike managed to rasp with another laugh.  Someone smacked him hard, forcing the rope to swing more, and Spike's laughter became a hiss of pain as the rope sent more misery down his arms.

"He may have a point," someone with a French accent said after as the rope came to a standstill.  "We may know too much about Red Dragon politics now to be safe."

"So what do we do?" the original grousing guy whined.  Spike could have told them that there really wasn't anything _to do:  they were already dead men, but he'd had enough of them yanking on the rope for a while and decided against it._

"We could take the money and run," said the fourth thug.  "That Vip bastard will be too busy in Tharsis trying to take over the Red Dragon to actually be bothered with us."  There seemed to be murmurs of agreement between the thugs.  Spike quickly turned the giggle that tried to escape into a weak cough.  He almost felt sorry for them; they were obviously less informed about who they were dealing with than he was if they thought getting away would be that easy.

"What about him?"  Frenchy asked.  Even blindfolded, Spike could feel four pairs of eyes bore into him.  

"I say we kill him and dump his body in one of the minor canali," whiny guy said.

"No, I've got a better idea," the leader said.  "He's supposed to be some sort of Dragon royalty, right?  Why don't we just sell him to the Tigers?  I'm sure that _they can think of something to do with him.  And I'm sure they'd pay a good price for him.  Imagine being paid by both the Dragons and Tigers for the same guy."  There was laughter and more murmurs of agreement, and Spike had to admit that, coming from them, it was a clever, but damn inconvenient, idea.  They were going to fuck up his plans, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop them in the condition he was in.  He had a brief but satisfying fantasy of beating the shit out of all four of them; and then he was tempted to laugh at himself for indulging in wishful thinking, but it just hurt too much, so he didn't.  Please hurry Mao, he thought again; and as if in answer to his prayer, there came a concussive explosion that shook the building, sending a shiver through the rope that made Spike gasp.  The ever-present, but little noticed hum of electricity was silenced.  Spike smiled at the sounds of consternation coming from his captors._

"What the hell?  Wilhelm, Thomas, go see what that was," the leader barked.  Spike could have told them; the strategy was obvious to him: divert, divide, and destroy.  Divert the enemy's attention, divide his forces and destroy him.  It seemed that the gods were listening to prayers after all.  

"What if it's somebody coming to get him?" asked the whiny guy.  Spike briefly wondered how the hell this guy got into any gang at all.  The leader seemed to be wondering the same thing.

"Wilhelm, no one knows we're here, remember?" he asked with a voice that said his patience was growing thin.  "A squirrel probably hit a transformer or something.  But just to be on the safe side, get your ass out there and look around!"  Spike heard the warehouse door opening and briefly felt the cold night air before the door closed again.  Now the waiting game began.  Spike listened to the two remaining men pacing the rapidly cooling room.

"_Merde!  Antonio, where the hell are they?"  Frenchy asked after what seemed to be about 10 minutes, a slight note of hysteria in his voice.  "It doesn't take that long to circle the building, they should be back by now.  Do you think someone __is trying to rescue him?"_

"Calm down, Louis, if the Dragons were trying to rescue him, they would've burst in by now, don't you think? Thomas and Wilhelm probably just ran into a security guard or something."  Amateurs, Spike mentally smirked.  "I'll go look for them.  Though if I'm not back in five minutes, kill him."  The warehouse door opened and closed once again, leaving Spike alone with French Guy.

"It would be really stupid of you to kill me," Spike croaked as soon as the door was closed all the way, the sound of pain in his voice making him cringe.  

"You're just trying to save your life. It's not going to work," Louis said, his accent making his contempt more noticeable.   

"Of course, I'm trying to save my life," Spike gasped out, "but it doesn't change the fact that killing me is stupid."  He stopped talking to catch his breath.  "If you kill me, and someone _is trying to rescue me, you've killed your only bargaining chip."_

"_Fermée la bouche!" Louis yelled in French, forgetting himself.  "Shut the fuck up!"  He shook the rope hard, causing Spike to nearly bite through his tongue.  Blood, hot and salty, filled Spike's mouth, and he said nothing else.  The door opened again, and Louis must not have liked what he saw, because Spike felt the cold muzzle of a gun against his temple.  "Whoever the hell you are, stay back or he gets it!"  That elicited a low chuckle from the vicinity of the door._

"So, Fluffy, we've been looking all over for you," came Vicious' river gravel voice, "and here we find you 'playing possum' with the local amateur hour."  The gun against his temple trembled.

"Fluffy?" Ansari's raucous laugh echoed through the warehouse.  

"That was his code name when he was younger," Vicious said.  He was definitely going to pay for letting that tidbit of information out, Spike thought.

"I mean it!  I'll kill him!  Stay back!"  Louis screamed.

"You seem to think we care, awwww how sweet.  Go right ahead," Ansari said brightly, the laughter still in her voice.  "You'll save us some ammunition."  Spike sighed, and steeled himself for what came next.  "No?" she asked as Louis balked at pulling the trigger.  "Let me show you how it's done, then."  The shot echoed through the largely empty warehouse, and the bullet ripped a hot path through Spike's already abused right shoulder, causing the rope to jerk violently once again.  Spike screamed, as he let himself go limp, playing dead for all it was worth.  Vicious' subtle emphasis on the code words 'playing possum,' had given Spike an unwelcome glimpse of what his rescuers intended.  There was a legend that claimed a man could get away from a rampaging bear by playing dead; that playing dead could save your life.  Opossums were the masters of this trick.  Of course, he'd recently found out the hard way that sometimes it was impossible to play dead.

"_Mon Dieu_…" was the only thing that Louis had time to say before a second shot from a different gun took him.

"Vicious, cut him down.  Lin, I need a quick assessment of his injuries.  Roshi, go signal Julia," Ansari ordered.  There was only the barest pause before the _shning_ of something sharp and metallic leaving its sheath reached Spike's ears, but in that fraction of a second, Spike imagined that Vicious had given Ansari one of his narrow, evil looks, and that Ansari had returned his look with one just as cold.  Spike smiled to himself; he knew his friends too well:  Vicious hated taking orders from Ansari, but did so out of habit, because she had been the CO of his battalion on Titan.  Vicious was his best friend, but Ansari was second in command of the cohort and that tension between the two of them made for an interesting group dynamic.  Spike stopped smiling as he realized that maybe he didn't know anyone as well as he thought he did.  Someone close to him had _betrayed_ him.  Did he dare trust anyone, even his closest friends, now?

"Wait a minute," Spike managed to croak as Vicious cut the rope.  His arms flopped down behind his back as his feet hit the floor, causing him to swallow back a cry.  Lin caught him and helped him to sit on the ground.  "Weren't you all scattered?"  Lin untied the blindfold, and Spike could just barely make out his three friends in the red emergency lights.  "Ansari, I don't believe you shot at me in this light."  Lin grinned as he started slowly waving an ultrasound scanner around him.

"Spike, I'm wounded to the heart," she laughed, pulling the unfortunate Louis to a corner of the warehouse.  "You know I could've hit you in a totally dark room with my eyes closed.  Don't you trust me?"  Spike made a noncommittal sound in his throat as she laughed again.

"Mao called us back together for a special job two days ago," Vicious said, answering Spike's first question as he cut the bindings from Spike's wrists.  "When you didn't show up, we figured that it involved you somehow."  Spike took his first deep breath in hours as the blood flow returned to his hands in a painful rush of burning needles.  His arms, however, refused the simple command to move.  "So, do you want to tell us why you are hanging out in Utopia?"  

"I'm investigating something," Spike mumbled around his swollen tongue.  Vicious raised an eyebrow, but the screech of car brakes, and the warehouse door opening interrupted whatever he had been about to say.  Julia backed into the room, dragging a man none too gently by his feet.  Roshi followed her, carrying his own guy.  They dumped the bodies in the corner with Louis, and Roshi went out to bring in the last guy.  Julia came over and knelt between Lin and Vicious, a worried frown wrinkling her beautiful features, most of her gold hair hidden under a black cap.

"Are they dead?"  Spike asked.  Julia shook her head, reaching out to touch him.  Spike flinched as she touched his arm.  She drew her hand away as if scalded. 

"We used the tranquilizer bullets," she said.  "Mao said that we weren't to kill anyone."  Spike nodded in understanding.  The order made sense since they were operating covertly in Tiger territory.  It seemed that Jet would be getting a bounty out of this after all.  Lin finished his scan, and caught Ansari's eye.

"Both of his shoulders are dislocated, his right wrist is broken, various cuts and bruises, and a ligament in his left hip is torn from the weights," he said grimly, "and of course, a gunshot wound."

"That doesn't sound _too_ bad, Lin.  Why the long face?"

"The bruise inside his right elbow points to the fact that he's been drugged.  If I had to guess, I'd say Anastazorphyline; and if that's true, we won't be able to get him back to Tharsis in the shape he's in."  

"I think that's what he said, 'Anasta-something-line,' " Spike said as helpfully as he could.  Lin, who was the cohort's authority on drugs, nodded, his expertise validated.  The others looked confused.

"Anastazorphyline is very big on the BDSM scene; among other things, it allows the victim to feel extreme pain, but cuts off the brain's typical responses to that pain.  Which is why Spike is awake at this moment.  It's probably the only thing keeping him from going into shock.  If it wore off while we were on our way back to Tharsis…"

"Shit, Lin, that's not what I wanted to hear." Ansari pursed her lips in thought.  "I guess it's time for plan B, then.  Julia, how far is the second farthest hospital within a fifty kilometer radius of this place?" Ansari asked.

"Forty-three point four kilometers south-south west," Julia said as Roshi came back in and dumped the last unconscious man in the corner.  He walked over to the rest of them.

"Why the _second_ farthest hospital?" Roshi asked.

"Because it is the last place that anyone trying to track us would look," Vicious answered before Ansari could, as he picked Spike up.  "We should probably go now," he said, "someone is bound to notice that this place is off the grid soon."  Ansari raised an eyebrow but said nothing as the others agreed.

***

Spike lay stretched out under Vicious' coat, on the third seat of the rented maglev car, looking at the ceiling.  It was a good way to get motion sickness on top of everything else, he thought, closing his eyes.  Roshi had long since given up trying to talk to him, since he was only giving one-word answers.  He was trying to keep absolutely still; trying to escape the pain that any movement caused him.  He wished that he could escape his thoughts as easily.  

He was only halfway listening to Julia cursing slow drivers.  In a small way, it felt good to know that certain things would always remain the same; like the fact that the only time Julia ever really raised her voice was to curse people in her way on the road.  It was a running joke among them that Julia was the most likely to be involved in a car chase unrelated to work; she was bound to cut off the wrong person one day.  "Geezer! Who the fuck told you to get in the fast lane in front of me?" she growled as she swerved the car into the next lane.  But mostly Spike was locked in his own head, thinking thoughts that hurt him worse than his shoulders.  'Spike, Vicious knows what you are planning…. _He knows you better than anyone,_" Julia had said in the cemetery.  'I told you once not to trust her; someone who could be manipulated into betraying the leader of her own cohort.  _She has no honor,_' Vicious had said.  What would he do if it had been one of them who betrayed him?  The car swerved again.

"Jeezus mercy and Buddha, Julia!  You almost ran over that girl!" Lin yelled, breaking into Spike's thoughts. He opened his eyes.  "We should stop to see if she's all right."

"She just threw her shoe at us," Julia said, watching the rearview mirror.  "She's fine.  Anyway, no one told her to jog down the center of an expressway in the middle of the night, Lin.  I didn't see any bumper on her ass.  If we stopped, are _you_ going to be the one to explain about Spike?"  

"I think you've just earned us some bad karma," Lin mumbled.  Julia snorted.  

"The hospital is just up ahead, I'm sure if she's hurt, she'll have enough sense to crawl there."

"_Extremely_ bad karma," Lin said, shaking his head.  Roshi laughed, and Spike almost smirked, but he didn't.  He wasn't exactly sure that he believed in karma or fate, but sometimes…

"As much as I hate to admit it, the IceWoman has a point, Lin," Vicious pointed out, using a nickname that he knew annoyed Julia.  "We don't want to have to explain ourselves to more people than necessary." 

"Lin, if you are really worried about it, we'll send someone back to see about her as soon as we get to the hospital, I promise," Ansari said soothingly, as the car turned off the main road.  

Spike sighed and closed his eyes again, returning to his thoughts.  'No, Spike, I'm not misinformed;' the Vip had said, 'but I wouldn't be surprised if Mao hasn't told you yet.  He _does_ like to keep secrets…' Mao never told everything he knew, everyone knew that.  It made no sense at all that he would be the betrayer.  Maybe Annie, or Doohan?  Spike's head hurt just thinking about it.  Maybe the person hadn't meant to betray him; maybe it was inadvertent?  

He had been rescued, as planned.  Had Mao been able to trace the bounty and catch the traitorous elder?  If so, then maybe the identity of his betrayer didn't really matter anymore.  'Don't you trust me?' Ansari had laughed earlier after she had shot him.

No, Ansari, Spike thought as the car stopped in front of the hospital, I don't trust anyone anymore.


	10. Part 10 - The Code

The Usual Disclaimer Notice:  I don't own the rights to Cowboy Bebop… Never have, never will… it belongs to Bandai/Sunrise…and let me tell you, I'm still pretty pissed off about that.  The title of the song Julia sings here is "Sweet Lullaby" by Deep Forest.  I don't own that either…

Author's Note:  Who would have thought that the little "What If" story that I wrote about Julia having a bit of a spine would have eventually have 10 chapters?  Certainly not I.  I'm so sorry that this chapter took so long…but, I'm never really satisfied with how these turn out, and this chapter needed a lot of nursing.  UPDATED: May 15, 2002:  I really wasn't happy with this chapter as first posted, and a scene that I was working on for the next chapter seemed to belong here, so I made some changes.  Sorry for the inconvenience. 

OTHER CHOICES (Part Ten)

Soft voices, coming from near his feet, woke him from the dreamless, anesthesia induced sleep; voices, and the thin hardness of what was obviously a hospital bed.  "Nil," Lin said in a voice barely above a stage whisper.  Roshi laughed quietly, and Ansari made a soft, strangled sound.  "What, Ansari?  I trust you to cover me," Lin said in his most charming voice.  Ansari literally growled.  Spike listened to the game without opening his eyes, without letting them know that he was awake, needing time to think, trying to find a clue to the identity of his betrayer.  They were playing a particularly ruthless game of Spades, from the sound of it, Spike thought through a haze of pain and anesthesia; Lin was trying to go for the outright kill with that bet.

"Double Nil," Vicious bet mockingly, the sneer plain in his voice, and Roshi's laughter turn into a choked cough.  Spike almost laughed aloud, smirked inwardly instead.  Vicious could only bet Double Nil if he hadn't looked at his cards yet.  Spike knew that he had made that bet to neutralize Lin's bet, and to make the game more of a challenge.  Poor Roshi, as long as they had been together as a cohort, he should have known that it was always better to be Vicious' opponent rather than partner in games of chance.  Ansari hated losing as much as anyone Spike knew, but Vicious _always played to win, never just for fun, __and he carried a katana._

"So, Roshi, what did you find out about our Dr. Bacchus?"  Vicious asked.  "Ooh, good cover Ansari," he said sarcastically.  Ansari growled again.

"Well, it seems that the good doctor has been sued for malpractice all over the solar system.  His license has been revoked on both Ganymede and Europa; apparently he was a drunk.  He even has a police record.  Evidently he and his assistant, one Nurse Manley, are con artists of some sort.  According to his personal computer logs from this facility, he seems to be in the middle of an insurance scam centering on someone who was cryogenically frozen before the Gate Accident."

"Good work, Roshi.  With information like that, we probably can avoid having to kill him," Ansari said offhandedly over the sound of cards being slapped down on the table.

"Blackmail, Ansari?" Vicious asked skeptically.  "That's definitely not your style, and you know the rules better than that.  Dead men don't talk, and it sounds like no one would really miss this one."

"Of course I know the rules, Vicious; and unlike you, I take them very seriously.  However, murder isn't always the best answer - one would think that you would know that by now.  We're trying to be inconspicuous, here, remember," she answered coolly.  "We would have to get rid of his assistant too, and that complicates the operation.  Two bodies might do more damage to us than any information this doctor could find about us to sell to the Tigers or ISSP.  He doesn't know anything about us, and considering what we now know about him, I don't think he'll be eager to talk to anyone," she said evenly, the shrug obvious in her voice.  "Wow, that was an _extremely good cover, Roshi," she complimented facetiously, laughing._

Spike felt his eyebrows draw together.  He had known that his friends were callous and without mercy, it was sort of part of their job description; hell, he followed the Red Dragon Code as cold-bloodedly as any of them, possibly more so, but he began to wonder if it been this jockeying for position that had led one of them to betray him.

"Speaking of police, did anyone else notice that guy with the thin eyebrows who asked us about that girl on the highway last night had a prison tattoo on the back of his neck?" Lin asked solemnly, probably completely missing Vicious' and Ansari's power struggle.  "He seemed rather chummy with Dr. Bacchus, if you ask me."

"We told him where to find the girl Lin, and that's the end of it," Ansari said, her slight Anglo-Hindi accent strengthening with her irritation.  "I think it's sweet that you have such a soft heart and all, but if you don't pay more attention to this game, I'll be forced to rip that heart out and eat it before your eyes.  Do I make myself clear?"  Obviously she had made herself clear, because they all got quiet as they began to concentrate on their cards, the casual talk of murder forgotten in the heat of a killer game.  

_"Sa ziza zecob dela dalou'a / Boralea'e borale mi komi oula…" Nonsense words sung softly.  Spike realized that he had been hearing them for a while under the card game.  He took a deep breath.  Over the sterile antiseptic scent of hospital, he could faintly smell vanilla, lavender and cigarettes mingled together, comfortable and homey.  Julia smells.  Now that the game was quiet, he could hear the barely audible click of her knitting needles.  She was probably making yet another scarf; even Vicious had a couple of Julia's scarves.  She was domestic that way.  Spike could also recall the time that she had used one of those needles to kill someone.  __"Etawuae'o ela'o coralia wu'aila / Ilei pandera zel e' tomu pere no mo mai…" She was near the head of the bed, paying no attention to the calm talk of murder or the card game at all it seemed, singing almost under her breath in her low purr. _

 The relative quiet made it easier to think.  Of his five remaining cohort members, only Vicious, Julia and Ansari knew enough about him to have betrayed him to that Vip.  He tried to think of reasons that one of them would betray him. Ambition?  Vicious was the most heartlessly ambitious of the three.  Nothing stood in the way of his wishes for long.  Ansari wasn't really less ambitious than Vicious, just more meticulous. She followed the rules.  Julia wasn't really ambitious, but she was charmingly ruthless about getting her way.  They had been a part of the most watched cohort in the syndicate; they were considered the future of the Red Dragon.  If any one of them had wanted to be the leader of the cohort, then he or she would have killed him long ago.  No, ambition made didn't make any sense.  Mao, Annie and Doohan were the only others it could be, and none of them made any sense either.  Doohan was a taciturn old goat who could give Mao lessons in secrecy, and what Mao knew, Annie knew, and vice versa.  

Damn it, everything seemed so normal, Spike thought as he listened to the murmured card game and the low singing.  These were actions that they had all done countless times.  Thoughts of betrayal had no place here.  Gods, he didn't want to think about it any longer.  He wondered if his life was ever going to return to normal.

"What does the song mean?" he asked, without opening his eyes, focusing on something, anything, other than his thoughts.  His voice was scratchy from disuse and pain.  Julia stopped singing with a small gasp.  He felt the air around him move heavily as she leaned in closer to him.  There was rustling from the foot of the bed as the others left their game and gathered around.

"Spike, are you awake?"  Julia asked softly, as if she didn't want to disturb him.

"No," he said, slowly opening his eyes, taking in his surroundings.  The room was long and narrow.  A small card table was set up at the end of the bed, while Julia's chair was at the head. Everyone was squished together, trying to see if he was really awake.  

Julia's ocean-blue eyes sparkled down at him with her beautiful smile.  For just an instant, he hated her.  _Everything is all your fault, Julia, some small part of him thought in that instant.  __If you had come with me, when I asked you, none of this would be happening now.  If you had come with me, I wouldn't be here doubting…No; it's not fair to blame her and you know it, Spike. You chose to come back, now live with it.  He closed his eyes, ashamed of his thoughts, as she leaned down and kissed his forehead.  "Do you have a cigarette?" he asked, hoping that the scratchiness of his voice masked his feelings from her._

"I've missed you," she laughed.  "And you know there's no smoking in hospitals."

"All the more reason to leave, then," Spike said as Vicious lit a cigarette and handed it to him.  Julia rolled her eyes as Lin found a bedpan to use as an ashtray.

"No can do, Fluffy," Ansari said.  "Mao said you were to stay put until you're healed or they kick us out, whichever comes first.  Sorry."  She didn't sound very sorry, in fact she grinned down at him when he frowned.

"I'm healed," he said, putting the cigarette in his mouth.  He tried to prove his point by sitting up in the bed.  "Ow, ow, ow," he groaned as he finally managed to prop himself up.  Everybody laughed as he glared around the room at him or her; he saved a particularly ferocious scowl for Ansari.  "Oh, and by the way:  'Fluffy' dies here and now, or I promise I'll find a way to make your life hell."  Ansari raised an amused eyebrow.  "You don't believe me?  Ask Vicious what the leader of that cohort called _him_."  Vicious gave her a look that said, in no uncertain terms, go ahead, and ask:  make my day.  "I'll find out something equally as bad about you if I have to ask your mother to do it." Spike smiled as Ansari rolled her eyes.

"You're no fun," she pouted mockingly.

Despite his suspicions, Spike found it easy to slip back into the cohort's group dynamic, despite the missing pieces.  He noticed that everyone looked like they could be graduate students from Sabaea Terra University in their jeans and sweatshirts, confident and sure of their places in the universe, not hardhearted syndicate members.  Julia fluffed a pillow and put it behind his back.  

"Well at least your arms are sort of working again," Roshi said with a grin.  "I don't think I've seen someone with two dislocated shoulders at once before.  That had to be the most painful looking thing I've seen in a while."  Spike laughed, blowing smoke; gods he really needed that nicotine fix.

"Ow.  Damn it, don't make me laugh," he said as the movement caused his shoulders to ache.  "Let me assure you, Roshi, that it was more painful than it looked." 

"So, are you going to tell us why we had to come to Utopia, of all places, to cut you down from a warehouse ceiling?" Vicious asked.  Spike looked at each of his friends, the members of _his_ cohort, and decided that even with his personal misgivings, they deserved at least part of the truth.  He sighed as he leaned his head back against the wall and watched as smoke from his cigarette curled to the ceiling, gathering his thoughts before answering.

"I was investigating who ordered the hit on us," Spike finally answered, not looking at any of them.  The silence before the storm was deafening.  They all spoke at once.

"You didn't tell us?" Vicious.  "Does Mao know what you're doing?" Lin. "How dare you leave us out of this?" Ansari.  "They were our friends too!" Julia.  "I don't believe you would do that to us!" Roshi.  

"I didn't have an opportunity to tell you," Spike said defensively, hating how weak he sounded.  "Mao had me leave immediately, and then you were all scattered."

"Annie did tell us that you had to leave immediately," Julia conceded with a pretty pout, seemingly willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.  Ansari nodded thoughtfully.

"So why Utopia?  Was it the Tigers?" Roshi asked eagerly, probably ready to go out and exact immediate revenge.

"Utopia is the bounty hunter's base of operations.  It had nothing to do with the Tigers, Roshi.  The situation is a lot more complicated than that," Spike said quietly.  They all stared at him, waiting for him to continue.  The silence stretched uncomfortably thin.

"I swear you're getting as secretive as Mao Yenrai himself, Spike," Vicious said, narrowing his eyes.  "…_I wouldn't be surprised if Mao hasn't told you yet.  He does__ like to keep secrets…Secrets like that are going to be his undoing," the Vip's cultured voice echoed through Spike's mind.  Spike felt as if ice water was poured down his spine.  Was it Vicious who had betrayed him?  _

"It's not that I like keeping secrets, from you," Spike answered the accusation indignantly in order to hide the fact that he still wasn't being entirely truthful.  "I just don't know how much Mao has told you.  And the less you know about this, the better off you'll be.  Trust me.  Hell, I wish that _I didn't know any of this," he shrugged and his shoulders made him instantly regret it. _

"Wait a minute, wait a minute, _wait a minute.  What bounty hunter?" Ansari asked quietly. _

"Umm, the bounty hunter who turned me in?  Exactly what_ did Mao tell you?" Spike answered with a question of his own, raising his eyebrows._

"That we were to save you from yourself, of course," Vicious smirked.  Lin and Roshi laughed, and even Julia smiled.

"Of course," Spike said rolling his eyes.  Ansari was the only one not smiling; her hawk beak nose wrinkled in thought.

"Well, Vicious, it looks like you get to murder someone after all," Ansari said sweetly to Vicious; he snorted in response.  "What can you tell us about this bounty hunter, Spike?  Roshi can probably track him down and Vicious can take care of him before we leave Utopia."  Spike felt his eyes widen in surprise.  Oh shit, he thought.  Obviously, Mao hadn't said anything to them about Jet; it had been a mistake to mention him.

"I don't think that's necessary, Ansari," he said in what he hoped was a bored tone of voice.  He watched Vicious and Ansari trade a questioning look.

"It's not a problem Spike," Roshi volunteered.  "I've already set up a Trojan program into the main ISSP database.  This will give me a chance to test it out."

"I said it's not necessary," Spike said coldly in a tone that was meant to close the matter.  Roshi shrugged, but Vicious, as usual, wasn't as easily put off.

"I don't understand you, Spike.  You know the rules.  This bounty hunter knows too much about you and we should get rid of him.  What's the problem?"  Spike knew that according to the Dragon Code what Vicious had said was absolutely true, but he also knew that Jet Black had helped him out of a tight situation at great personal risk to himself.  If he were able to tell his friends the complete truth, they would _probably understand why he didn't want to kill Jet; but, if he told them the truth, and his betrayer was indeed one of them, then the treacherous Vip might find out that Mao was on to him.  Damn it all to hell, Spike thought, frowning.  It seemed that Julia's bad driving karma from the night before was coming back to bite him on the ass._

"There's no problem.  I said it's not necessary, and that's final."  The sudden tension in the room caused it to feel as if the temperature had dropped 10 degrees.  There was a collective indrawn breath as Lin, Roshi and Julia looked like children watching their parents fight:  like they wanted to be somewhere else.  Vicious and Ansari exchanged another pointed look, and Spike, raising an eyebrow, wondered when had they become so close.

"It's not your mission, Spike, and you aren't our leader, anymore," Ansari said coolly as she crossed her arms in challenge.  Oh shit, Spike thought again.

"I may not be your leader any longer, Ansari, but you're wrong.  Thanks for the rescue, but this _is my mission, and it's my honor.  I'll take care of the bounty hunter myself, is that understood?" he said bluntly, hoping to delay whatever plans she was making.  It was Vicious' turn to raise an eyebrow._

"Fine," she said, raising her hands in surrender.  "Fine.  Why didn't you just say you wanted to do it yourself?"  

"I didn't think I needed to," Spike sighed, relieved that she had backed down so easily.

"Ordinarily, you wouldn't need to tell us that, Spike.  But for a second there, I was worried that you were growing a conscious or something," Vicious said quietly.  "I should have known better."  Julia watched Vicious with a small but telling frown, and Ansari smiled.  _"You know, I had a bet with the Van that you'd be the first to grow a conscious.  They were backing Lin, but I knew better," Mao had said.  _

"Vicious has no faith in you, Spike.  _I know that you live by the Code.  If you didn't, you know that we'd have killed you by now," Ansari laughed wolfishly.  Spike kept his features in a mask-like smirk, he knew exactly why Vicious doubted him._

"You mean that you would have _tried to kill me," Spike answered, looking at Vicious pointedly.  Vicious gave Julia a cold sneer. Shit, shit, shit!  Spike thought.  This was definitely getting out of hand._

Lin spoke up through the teeth of the tension.  "Zumiko would've told a joke right about now.  Do you all remember the time she told that joke?"  Everyone gave him a slant-eyed look, wondering why he had interrupted.

"Which time?" Julia asked, "Zumi was always telling jokes."

"The time that _we all_ _laughed_," Lin answered solemnly.  Spike looked at Lin with new eyes, it seemed that Lin sometimes caught on more than he let on.  There was a pause before everyone erupted into giggles.

"Does anyone actually remember what that joke was about?"  Roshi asked.  "I think the only reason I laughed was because I realized that no one else was going to get it.  That, and I was drunk."

"Those were the only reasons that anyone laughed, Roshi.  I couldn't tell you that joke to save my life," Ansari answered, smiling widely.

"_Zumi_ couldn't tell you that joke to save _her_ life," Vicious said with a smirk.

"Zumi couldn't tell _any_ joke to save her life," Spike laughed.  The earlier tension that had filled the room dissipated in the remembrance of their fallen comrade.

"You know, I think that she did that on purpose," Julia said, her eyes twinkling with restrained laughter.  "The law of averages would have us believe that she would've told a funny joke at least once."

"There _was_ this kids' joke she told me once:  'Big fire down at the circus.  The heat was in tents.'" Lin said mimicking Zumi's deadpan, piping voice. "I got it two weeks later at a completely inappropriate time."

"I don't get it," Roshi said frowning in concentration.

"Just wait two weeks," Spike laughed again.

"How about that time that street punk shorted Dylan those 2 vials of Red-Eye?"  Vicious asked in his quiet growl, a cold glint of laughter flashed in his gray eyes.  Ansari snorted, and Roshi began to grin.  Julia covered her mouth as if trying to hold back her laughter and failing.

"That was the first time I saw someone actually shit himself in fear," Lin remarked, his nose wrinkling at the memory.

"That stupid punk-ass bitch should have known better," Roshi said.  "You don't try to fuck over someone whose preferred weapon is _explosives_."

"Dylan was very creative, I'll give him that," Ansari said, smiling.  "I mean I'd've just killed the punk."

"He was very lucky that Dylan only blew three of his fingers off," Julia chimed in, "I hear that his name in the street is 'Lefty.'"

"I was impressed with the fact that Dylan blew that guy's fingers up one at a time.  That took some serious skill," Vicious said smiling coldly.

"You have to admit that no one ever tried to cheat us like that again," Spike said, remembering how that incident had made their reputation as a cohort to be feared.  There were nods of agreement all around the room.

"Remember Ryokan's karaoke?"  Ansari asked, giggling hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.  Everyone started laughing again.

"I still have that on disc," Lin said.

"Oh gods, he sounded like he was raping cats," Roshi said laughing and shaking his head.

"Roshi, that's an image that I could have done without," Julia said glaring at him in mock anger.  

"Well he did," Roshi said, defending himself.  "How many shots did you and Dylan make him drink before he would go on stage, Vicious?"

"Too many," Vicious chuckled at the thought.

"I'm still trying to get the 'raping cats' image out of my head," Ansari grinned.  "Do you remember the time when Muhammad went to rough up that scrawny fruit stand operator and lost?"  

"And Zumiko had to save his ass?" Vicious added, laughing. 

"Man, I'm going to miss them," Lin said quietly.  Everyone sobered, tears of laughter slowly mingling with other tears.

"Yeah," was the only thing that Roshi could say.

"Here's to the best damn cohort ever!" Vicious said in a mock toast, raising an invisible glass.

"_Salut_!" Spike said, joining him, unable to raise his hand high. 

"_Salut_!" Everyone shouted, miming the clinking of glasses.

There was a knock on the door, and Spike swallowed the mostly-smoked cigarette as a red-haired nurse entered.  She wrinkled her nose at the smoky smell.

"Visiting hours are over; and there's no smoking in hospitals," she said pointedly.  Six pairs of eyes looked at her with feigned innocence.  She crossed her arms over her chest, not in the least bit fooled.  

"But he just woke up," Julia said, trying to sound endearing.  The nurse was unmoved.

"I don't make the rules young lady, but I do enforce them.  I'll give you five minutes, and then you have to leave," the nurse said coolly as she walked out the door.

"Bitch," Julia mumbled, gathering up her yarn and needles.  The others went back to the table and threw in their cards.  Spike hacked up the cigarette butt into the bedpan.

"Oi, Vicious," Roshi said, sounding aggravated, "you had the Ace of Spades.  There was no way for us to win."  Ansari and Lin exchanged a smirk.

"Well, it's a good thing that we couldn't finish, isn't Roshi?" Vicious asked in his most annoyingly calm voice.  Gathering up the cards, Roshi narrowed his eyes, but knew better than to say anything else.  

"Hey, Lin, before you go, which Vips in the Organization deal with that drug Anasta – whatever?" Spike asked casually.  Lin stopped as the others left the room waving broadly and loudly saying goodbyes still laughing.  Spike smiled wistfully at their retreating backs.

"Business wise or personally?" Lin asked.  

"Both."

"Elders Basri, Roethke, Chiu-feng and Boswell all deal Anastazorphyline, but the only one that I _know of who is into the BDSM scene is Boswell.  Shin's cohort is a part of Boswell's organization, and boy, he could tell you some stories…Why?  You don't think that one of the Elders was involved in this, do you?" Lin asked with a growing look of horror.  Spike thought fast._

"No, but if I know who sells it, I can ask who they sell it to," he improvised.  He watched as Lin thought about it.

"That's pretty good thinking," he allowed.  Spike smirked at him.  

"That's why I was the leader," he said with a small chuckle.  "Just don't tell Vicious or Ansari I said that."  Lin laughed quietly.  

"Do you need any help?"

"You could lend me your phone.  I really need to call Mao, and I really don't want to use a public phone to do it.  But other than that, no," Spike shook his head.  "Like I said, it's _my_ mission, and I'm sure that you have other things to worry about since you've been promoted.  You should go before that nurse comes back."  Lin fished his phone from his jacket and hid it in a fold of blanket.  "By the way, thanks for making us remember."  Lin blushed.

"See you later," he said, still smiling, as he left, closing the door behind him.  

Spike stopped smiling.  Boswell.  He had been in Mao's antechamber the day that Spike had tried to leave, Spike remembered.  Wasn't Boswell the one who got that officious toad Seymour to tell Mao that he was there?  Was that why he had thought he had heard the Vip's voice before?  If the Vip was Boswell, then who was his personal betrayer?  Lin's younger brother Shin was in Boswell's organization, but Spike didn't know Shin as well as he knew Lin, and Lin didn't know Spike's life story, anyway.  Damn, he needed to speak to Mao as soon as possible.  

He reached for the phone just as the nurse came back in, pushing a cart and looking well put upon.  "Your friends are obnoxious," she said frowningly.  Spike let his hand drop away from the hidden phone.

"They can be, sometimes," he said neutrally.  The nurse harrumphed.  She looked at his chart, and then clattered slowly through the cart.  Hurry up, Spike thought, wanting to talk to Mao, as she prepared what appeared to be several pills that could choke a horse and a small glass of water for him.  Spike said nothing as he looked at the all of the pills with a raised eyebrow.  The nurse turned her frown on him.

"You should take these, unless you _like being in pain.  I'm not going to be in and out of here during the night for bunch of whining, so I'd advise you to take them now."  If it will make you leave faster, Spike thought as he palmed the pills and took a gulp of water.  He'd take the pills later; he definitely didn't want to talk to Mao drugged out of his mind.  The nurse patted him on the head like a puppy.  "Good boy.  The doctor will be in to see you tomorrow morning, and according to your chart, he'll probably release you.  Thank the gods," the last bit was mumbled.  Spike wondered, with a smirk, just how obnoxious his friends had been._

***

"Spike!  You are looking a great deal better than the last time I saw you," Lin's small visu-phone made Mao's voice tinny.  Spike blinked in surprise, and then remembered that the last time Mao saw him had been while he was being tortured.  His became more aware of the ache in his shoulders.

"Did the plan work?  Did we catch him?"  Mao nodded and Spike felt a small smile of triumph find his lips.  "Was it Boswell?"

"You don't need that information right now," Mao said quietly.

"But…" Mao cut off Spike's protest.

"I told you earlier that justice was mine to mete out, Spike, not yours," Mao said firmly.  "If I told you which Elder was responsible for murdering part of your cohort, what would you do?  Don't answer that; let _me_ tell _you_.  You would throw yourself headlong back to the wolves trying to get revenge, that's what.  I've already watched you being tortured once; I don't think I want to experience that again so soon.  All you need to know at this point is that the situation is now under control."  

"Ok," Spike sighed, conceding with ill grace.  Mao watched him hawkishly through the tiny screen.

"There is something else bothering you," he said.  Spike sighed again.  Just as the problem of the traitorous Vip was Mao's to deal with, the problem of Spike's personal betrayer was his to deal with.  Besides, as unlikely as it seemed, Mao was one of the suspects.  But there was something he could tell Mao.

"Why didn't you tell Ansari and Vicious and the others about the bounty hunter?"  Spike asked.  It was hard to see Mao raise an eyebrow through the screen.

"They did not need to know about him.  Why?"

"Because they wanted to track him down and kill him," Spike answered simply.  Mao tilted his head.

"Not only is that the wise thing to do, but you know that it is part of the Code.  How is this a problem?"

"He helped us.  Without him, you wouldn't have been able to catch the traitor.  I think it would be dishonorable of us to kill him."  It was Mao's turn to sigh.

"This is what happens when you are hot-headed and impulsive.  I told you to think of _everything before you proceeded with this plan.  I'm sorry if this hurts you, Spike, but you __know the rules.  He knows too much about internal Dragon politics, and about you in particular.  If you want, I can send someone else to take care of it." _

"No," Spike said numbly.  "No.  It's my problem.  I'll take care of it," he said echoing what he had told Ansari earlier.

"I am sorry, Spike," Mao repeated sadly.  "I know you'll do the right thing."

"But I don't think that this _is_ the right thing, Mao.  There have to be other choices.  If I can think of another way to deal with the bounty hunter…"

"If you can think of another way by tomorrow, Spike, I'll consider it.  I won't make you any promises, though; and if you can't think of another way, then you know what you have to do."  Spike nodded solemnly, knowing that Mao had just granted him an indulgence that he might not have granted anyone else.  Mao clicked off. 

The phone felt heavier in Spike's hand, and it wasn't just because of the throbbing pain in his shoulder.


	11. Part 11 - The Offer

_The Usual Disclaimer Notice: Never owned it, never will:  sucks to be me._

Author's Note:  Can there be a true compromise between what is honorable and what is wise?  Spike sure hopes so.  This one is short… Thanks to my beta reader who generally pushes me to think outside of my comfort zone... I'm planning on returning the favor (insert evil laughter here - muwahahahahah!!!)

OTHER CHOICES (PART ELEVEN)

_"He helped us.  Without him, you wouldn't have been able to catch the traitor.  I think it would be dishonorable of us to kill him."  It was Mao's turn to sigh._

_"This is what happens when you are hot-headed and impulsive.  I told you to think of _everything_ before you proceeded with this plan.  I'm sorry if this hurts you, Spike, but you know the rules.  He knows too much about internal Dragon politics, and about you in particular.  If you want, I can send someone else to take care of it." _

_"No," Spike said numbly.  "No.  It's my problem.  I'll take care of it," he said echoing what he had told Ansari earlier._

_ "I am sorry, Spike.  I know you'll do the right thing."_

_"But I don't think that this _is_ the right thing, Mao.  There have to be other choices.  If I can think of another way to deal with the bounty hunter…"_

_"If you can think of another way by tomorrow, Spike, I'll consider it.  I won't make you any promises, though; and if you can't think of another way, then you know what you have to do."  _

***

Spike walked through the crowded Utopian streets deep in dark thought.  "…you know what you have to do."  Mao's words echoed unpleasantly through his mind.  Yes, he knew what he had to do.  

The rule wasn't an arbitrary one; it was for the protection of the whole Clan.  This rule was the main reason Julia hadn't wanted to leave with him, why he himself, because of her, had come back to the Dragons.  If some "civilian" knew too much about Clan business, everyone in the Clan could be put at risk.  Killing such a one before any damage could be done to the Red Dragon was wise.  Spike understood the rule, he even approved of it; but now the rule had become a trap, and it didn't make what he had to do any easier.  

The day, in contrast to his thoughts, was sunny, warm and breezy:  a nearly perfect spring day in Utopia City.  The breeze, filled with the sweetness of honeysuckle from Utopian gardens and baking bread from a nearby bakery, however, couldn't quite overcome the damp, fishy, garbage smells seeping up from the canali.  All too soon, he came to his destination at the heart of the wharf district.  The Bebop, looking a lot worse in the bright sunshine than it had in space, floated at it's dock on the scummy water of the canal, surrounded by wheeling, hungry gulls.  Spike could see Jet working on the deck, surrounded by his laundry.  He took a deep, calming breath, ignoring both the flower and garbage smells, and hated himself for what he was about to do.  It's necessary, he told himself.

"Yo, Jet, you up for company?" Spike called up.  Jet peered over the railing in surprise.

"You again?" Jet asked, drawling gruffly down at Spike.  "What do you want now?"  Several pairs of paisley boxer shorts of various colors snapped like flags in the stiff spring breeze.

"I've come bearing gifts," Spike answered, holding up the two cloth grocery bags he carried for inspection.  Spike silently thanked the nano-machines that had repaired the bones and ligaments in his shoulders enough that he _could_ hold the bags up without much pain.  Jet looked down at him with a bemused expression.

"Well gifts, why didn't you say so in the first place?" Jet asked as he lowered the ladder over the side of the ship.  Spike was tempted to laugh as he handed the bags up to the bounty hunter and climbed aboard the trawler.  Jet hurriedly grabbed the rest of his laundry off the line, and led the way down to the ship's galley.  Spike, faintly amused, watched the realization creep over Jet's face as they emptied the bags and put away the food.

"Steak, ham, turkey, tuna, beef roast, pork roast, bacon, chicken…. Hey kid?  Did you forget the vegetables?"

"From what I saw the last time I was aboard, you had too many vegetables."

"But…emu?"  Jet wrinkled his nose and stared at the butcher's label skeptically.  Spike smirked.

"It's the other red meat," he said authoritatively, quoting from the poster in the butcher shop window.  "Believe me, I'm sure it beats meatless sukiyaki any day."

"Hmmmmm" Jet said, putting the emu in the freezer, not sounding at all convinced.  "So, do you want to tell me what's up with all of this extravagance?" he asked as Spike took the smoked salmon out of the bag.  "After all, I've gotten a total of eight million three hundred and twenty five thousand woolongs out of this deal already."

"What?!  Do you mean to tell me that those assholes were only worth _twenty-five thousand woolongs_?  I was going to ask for 90% of their bounty, except now I'm insulted.  I _knew_ they were small fry, but that's just ridiculous."

"Yep," Jet said, nodding in agreement.  "Smallest of the small.  I almost refused the bounty myself when I found out how much it was," Jet chuckled.  "By the way, your friends were pretty efficient at mopping them up.  You, on the other hand, didn't look so good coming out."

"I'll be sure to tell them you said so," Spike said, suddenly uncomfortable at the talk of his friends.  If they had known that they had an audience, he wouldn't be here now having this conversation with Jet; the bounty hunter would already be dead.  And if Jet found out anything else about them, it would almost certainly complicate matters even more.  "What did you do with all of that money anyway, since I see you didn't take my advice about reupholstering the couch and chair?"

"Most of it's going to the Benevolent Society for the Comfortable Retirement of Old Bounty Hunters.  So, you still haven't told me what's with all this meat.  Are you avoiding the subject?"

"Actually, yes, I am," Spike said with a big sigh.  "It's a long story.  Why don't you cook something and I'll tell you over lunch?"  Spike gestured towards all of the meat still on the counter.  Jet pursed his lips before harrumphing and turning to the counter to pick up various butcher packages, as if he were weighing their contents.

"Maybe I should feed you that 'other red meat'…nah, since I'm going to be eating this too, I guess I'll make my specialty:  bell peppers and beef."

"As long as it isn't meatless, I don't care," Spike said.  Jet smirked.

"I seem to recall you eating a whole lot of that sukiyaki.  Unless your legs are hollow or something."  Spike snorted.  He would never pass up a meal of any sort.  "Now, get out of my kitchen.  I've got food to prepare."

"What?  It's a secret recipe or something?"  

"Passed down from father to son in a secret ceremony to mark the son's passage into manhood," Jet said, grinning and making shooing motions with his hands.  Spike, laughing again, let himself be shooed and went to the common room.  There was a deck of cards on the table and Spike, plopping down onto the yellow sofa, began to shuffle them automatically, his thoughts elsewhere.

Damn it!  This would be so much easier if Jet weren't actually cooking him lunch, Spike thought, as he dealt out a hand of Solitaire.  He could hear the rattle of pots over the hum of the ceiling fan.  He stared at the cards, losing himself in thoughts of honor versus wisdom.  He didn't even hear Jet's metal boots against the metal steps.

"You should put the two there," Jet pointed out, placing a steaming plate of bell peppers and beef on the table in front of Spike.  The bounty hunter sat in the yellow chair, balancing his plate on his knees.  "So did you catch the traitor?  I've been watching the news, and no one prominent has committed suicide as far as I can tell."

"I'm not sure," Spike answered, picking up his chopsticks and trying Jet's dish.  "Mao says that everything is under control, and that I'm not to ask about it, but I feel that there's something that I'm missing."  

"And why do you feel that?"

"Because this whole operation was almost too easy."  

"What do you mean too easy?" Jet asked in disbelief.  "If I recall correctly, your friends had to carry you out of that warehouse."

"Someone that I trusted absolutely gave that Vip some personal information about me; and the Vip let me know that he knew this information.  It was like he was some moustache-twirling villain from a really bad TV show or something.  I can't be sure if this was just a personal betrayal, or if it has ramifications for the entire Clan, but I do know that no one with that much power would give away an advantage like that if he could keep it secret."

"Wow, no wonder you seem preoccupied," Jet said around a mouthful of beef.

"That's the least of my worries right now," Spike said, dreading what came next.

"Oh?" Jet raised an eyebrow.  "Does this have something to do with the meat?"

"Yeah, in a way.  You see one of the drawbacks to growing a conscious seems to be guilt, and I guess my conscious is guilty.  I've come to make you an offer you can't refuse."  He watched as the bounty hunter's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What the hell does that mean?" Jet said in a tight, deadly voice.  Spike took a bite of the bell peppers and beef to gather his thoughts and avoid answering right away; it actually wasn't too bad, he silently complimented Jet.

"I'm sure you've seen that movie.  You tell me," he said softly after swallowing. Spike watched as Jet drew his gun, flicked off the safety, and pointed it deliberately at him.  He didn't let that stop him from calmly taking another bite.

"Take your ostrich and get off of my ship!"  At any other time, Spike would have laughed at that sentence; right now, he didn't even smirk.

"Ostrich?" he asked before deciding not to get sidetracked.  "It's not that simple Jet.  It's already a done deal," he said in a reasonable tone of voice.  Jet, it seemed, wasn't having reason at the moment.

"Get.  Off.  My.  Ship," the bounty hunter ground each word between his clinched teeth.

"Look, just hear me out.  Please.  After that, me and the _emu _will gladly leave."  Jet snorted despite himself.

"Smart ass.  I _knew_ I shouldn't have talked to you in that alley.  What makes you think I'm going to listen to you now?"  Spike smirked at him, and then sighed again, shaking his head.  Now was not the time for levity. 

"Because I'm trying to save your life?"

"Didn't you just _threaten_ my life?" Jet retorted.

"Not really…well…yeah…Sort of," Spike let the words trail off in the face of Jet's closed expression.  

"You can't have it both ways kid, and you know it," Jet said, lowering the gun slightly.

"I _am_ supposed to kill you.  You know too much about both Dragon politics and me.  I still may have to kill you as a matter of fact.  But I really don't want to."

"And this is supposed to reassure me?" Jet asked facetiously.  "You don't have to do anything, you could just walk away."

"You know better.  I couldn't _just _walk away.   Both of our lives would be forfeit the minute I did that.  No.  What I _can _do is put you on the Dragon payroll.  I think you might be safe then."

"I _might_ be safe?  You don't even know?" the bounty hunter's deep voice almost cracked. "If I took this offer, I _might _be safe, but I'd be without honor," he spat.  "I left the ISSP, a job that I was good at, a job that I loved doing, because I didn't want to be on any Syndicates' payroll; what gives you the right to just waltz onto my ship and invalidate my life choices?  What's to stop me from killing you right now?" he brought the gun up again.

"One:  you're not a cold-blooded murderer," Spike said evenly, ignoring the muzzle of the Walther P99 leveled at his chest. "Two:  I'm being watched, and if you kill me, you would definitely be a dead man walking.  At least if you accept my offer, there's a chance to redeem your honor.  If you don't, well, what good is honor to a dead man?"

"I've heard you out.  Now, get off of my ship," Jet said coldly, lowering the gun again.  Spike shook his head sadly; he really didn't want to have this man as an enemy.

"Fine.  I'm leaving," Spike said, pushing his lanky body up from the yellow sofa.  "I'll be in Utopia City for two more days, Jet.  I need to hear from you before I leave, or I can't be responsible for what happens," he said softly, hating himself for the threat.  He handed Jet a card from the place he was staying.  "Don't make them kill you.  Don't put _me_ in the position of having to kill you."  Jet gave him a look that seemed to be reserved for slime mold found growing in the back of a refrigerator.  "Oh, and you can keep the emu."


End file.
